


Community Theatre

by Griselda_Gimpel



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Betaed, Comedy of Errors, F/F, F/M, Fanart, Illustrated Fan Fic, Interspecies Romance, Lores is a horse now, M/M, Must be 18 to Read and 12 to Find Funny, Mystery, Rated M for Language and Sexual Innuendo, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26064661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Gimpel/pseuds/Griselda_Gimpel
Summary: k'Leshya Vale is putting on a play, with Firesong and Silverfox in the lead roles. When mishaps begin to befall the production, it's up to the newest Herald out of Valdemar to crack the case in this theatrical whodunit.Set after Storm Breaking. COMPLETE!There needs to be more Firesong/Silverfox content, y'all!
Relationships: Nyara/Skif (Valdemar), OC/OC, Silverfox k'Leshya/Firesong k'Treva
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. The Joy of Washing Dishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big shout out to my beta readers, slothday and shiningsomehow. Thank you two so much!

In one of the lower _ekeles_ in k’Leshya Vale, Herald Skif relaxed with his head on the lap of his lady, Nyara. She was stroking his hair adoringly, which was making it difficult for him to go through his mail. Still, he was a Herald, and Heralds have responsibilities. And that meant going through all of the letters.

He opened the first one and read, “Looking to rebuild after the Mage Storms? Act now and Erstwhile Holding will extend you credit for zero interest for the first year!”

“Trash,” Nyara said.

Skif opened the next one. However, he did not read it out loud but blushed red instead. With a teasing glint in her eye, Nyara took it from him.

“Is your lady unsatisfied?” she read. “Do you wish you were longer? Wider? Does your little soldier need training in standing at attention? For a reasonable price, Wizard P. Rick can help you, yes you. Reply back for more details.”

“Trash,” Skif said. “Trash, right?”

Nyara giggled. “Trash. Your lady isn’t unsatisfied. You know, it amazes me how willing these people are to waste paper.”

“That’s what peace gets you. Huh - this one looks like it might be important.” The envelope bore the seal of the Valdemaran Crown. When he opened it, he saw that the letter was brief and to the point. He read, “Herald Skif, new Herald coming to intern under you. Gryphon. Warning: Firestarter. Expect one moon after the Spring Equinox.”

Nyara cocked her head to the side. “Hasn’t he already had his internship?”

“Yeah, I don’t get it either; he’s the Lord Marshall’s Herald now. Well, I guess we’ll have the answer to the mystery soon enough.”

\---

Silverfox was with his last client, and Firesong was practicing his magic in the kitchen. With magic scattered about, gathering energies was a chore, but Firesong was not one to let a challenge daunt him. He glanced at the dishes in the sink. Usually, one of the _hertasi_ would have cleaned them already, but Silverfox has instructed them not to. He hadn’t told Firesong what he had planned, but he’d assured Firesong that he’d enjoy it.

That wouldn’t be until after Silverfox was finished working, however. That was something that Firesong was still getting used to. Silverfox had insisted they talk about it when Firesong had moved in with him two weeks prior, and Firesong was confident that he would be able to get used to it. It was just going to take time.

Not that Silverfox’s current client was one that bothered him. While Silverfox’s sessions were completely confidential, the _tervardi_ Brightwings wore Silverfox’s handiwork on her body. She liked having her feathers painted in a brilliant rainbow of colors so that she could be mistaken for a male _tervardi_ at first glance. Brightwings was always happy to chat, and she had explained to Firesong that she was very much a woman; she just didn’t see why only the menfolk could be brightly colored. Firesong also knew – because again, Brightwings wasn’t shy – that there was no chance of anything more intimate occurring between his partner and herself. Silverfox might have been a beautiful man, but he was still just that – a man. When Brightwings wasn’t working at the construction of the Vale, she could often be found showing off her coloration to the other _tervardi_ ladies.

The _ekele_ that Firesong and Silverfox shared was rather large. In addition to the kitchen, there was their bedroom, a common area, a bathroom, and Silverfox’s office where he worked. The bathroom had been modified as soon as the Mage Storms had started; there was now a cistern that collected water and fed it. Near the base of the tree containing the _ekele_ was a private hot springs and waterfall system. It could be seen from the window of the bedroom but not from the office, which was around on the other side of the tree to give Silverfox’s clients privacy. A hall connected the office to the rest of the house, and there was a separate ramp that his clients could enter and leave by.

“And done,” Silverfox said as he entered the kitchen. He leaned down and gave Firesong a gentle kiss. Firesong’s burns were mostly healed, but Silverfox was considerate and careful. Firesong’s masks – he had several by this point – were lined with a salve so that they didn’t hurt him when he wore them. He never wore them when it was just Silverfox and himself, of course. There was never any need. 

“I am absolutely dying to know what is with all of the dishes,” Firesong said after Silverfox pulled away. Oh, Firesong rather suspected that he was going to be the one doing them, but there would be more to it than that. The previous week, Firesong had made a comment about trying to be more considerate of others. Silverfox had asked if Firesong wanted help with that, and when Firesong assented, he and Silverfox spent the week doing each other’s hair in the mornings, instead of leaving it up to the _hertasi_. Silverfox’s hair was longer, but Firesong liked his braided rather than just brushed straight, so it evened out. Firesong had had to do his own hair before, such when they were out on the Dhorisha Plains, when he was traveling through Hardorn, and when he was in Valdemar (except for when he had that lovely young Bard Clydesdale to do it for him) but never before had he done his _lover’s_ hair. The feeling of Silverfox’s silky smooth hair running through his fingers while he brushed it had been a thoroughly enjoyable experience. This week, they’d been letting the _hertasi_ assist, especially if they were in a hurry, but Firesong hadn’t entirely relinquished hair brushing duties.

Silverfox grinned. “I was thinking. What were the times in your life when you had to do your own dishes? There was when we were on the Dhorisha Plains and when you were in Valdemar. Any other times?”

Firesong thought back. “When I was ten, there was a malfunction with the Veil, and the winter put all of the _hertasi_ into hibernation until we could get it fixed. And when I was I think eight, there was a disease of some sort that made a bunch of them sick.”

“That must have had you worried?”

“The disease especially.”

“And when you were in Valdemar, you were in a strange country that you didn’t even choose to go to.”

“Yes, Forefather Vanyel kidnapped me.”

“And we were all on edge when we were out on the Plains.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Firesong, don’t you see? Every time in your life that you’ve had to do the dishes, it was because there was some stressful circumstance going on.”

“Huh. I guess you’re right.” Firesong had never thought of it that way.

Silverfox rubbed his hands together. “I want you to tie your hair back and take off your robes. You’re going to wash the dishes.”

“Okay. And I’m disrobing because…?”

Silverfox smiled broadly. “And while you do that, I’m going to use my talents to make it a thoroughly pleasurable experience for you.”

“Oh,” Firesong said, finally getting it. “So I’ll have a dish washing experience that isn’t negative.”

As Firesong started on the first plate, scrubbing it thoroughly before rinsing it, Silverfox shifted Firesong’s hair aside and started on Firesong’s back. His carefully trained fingers knew how to find the knots that not even Firesong had realized were there, and Firesong leaned into the sink ledge with a soft moan as Silverfox applied just the right amount of pressure to the first one.

“Don’t forget your task now,” Silverfox breathed into his ear. As Firesong worked the dishes and Silverfox worked Firesong’s back, Silverfox reflected on his second-to-last client. Nightshower was younger than Silverfox – only twenty – and not nearly as worldly as he pretended in front of his friends. As soon as he’d arrived, he made to start removing Silverfox’s robes. Silverfox had gently caught his wrists before he’d been able to lay his hands on the cloth.

“What are you doing?” Silverfox asked calmly.

Nightshower had been confused. “I paid in advance, didn’t I?”

“And you will get the treatment I prescribe you,” Silverfox said firmly. “Has no one explained to you how _kestra’cherns_ work?”

Silverfox was quick enough to see the guilt flit across Nightshower’s face. No doubt someone had told him at some point, possibly more than once. And just as certainly, Nightshower hadn’t listened, as was so often the flaw of the young.

“Even if I was nothing more than a bedmate-for-hire, which I am most certainly not, your actions are not the ones of an attentive lover.” He let go of Nightshower’s wrists. “But that’s not the real reason you’re here, I’m guessing?”

Nightshower flushed and looked down. “Moonwater broke up with me.” His next words came out as a mumble. “She said I was immature.”

“So you thought you’d bed the beautiful _kestra’chern_ to prove her wrong, right?”

“Yeah.” Nightshower squirmed.

“And when you and Moonwater were intimate, did you treat her how you just tried to treat me? Rushing right into sex without even a how-was-your-day?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then you do need my services,” Silverfox told him. “Here, take off your shirt and lay down on the table here. This is your first lesson. I’m going to give you a massage, and I want you to pay attention to what I’m doing. If you’re not sure how I’m doing what I’m doing, I want you to stop me and ask. Then we’re going to switch places, and you’re going to give me a massage. You won’t be a fully trained _kestra’chern_ by the time I’m done with you by any means, but you shouldn’t leave a lover unsatisfied, either.”

Silverfox’s reminiscence was interrupted by Firesong speaking, which brought him back to the present. The dishes in the sink were nearly all washed, and the knots in Firesong’s back had surrendered to Silverfox’s ministrations.

“I can see why your clients pay you so much,” Firesong said.

“Are you having feelings of jealousy?” Silverfox asked without judgement. “Again, I don’t want you to bottle them up and pretend they aren’t there if you’re having them.”

“A little,” Firesong admitted. “I’m working through them.” He finished the last dish and spun around so that he was facing his partner. “I think I shall make you a crown of feathers.”

Silverfox trailed his fingers down Firesong’s chest. “Now now, don’t go plucking Aya bald just to declare your love for me.” Firesong laughed and then closed his eyes, surrendering himself to Silverfox’s ample talents.

“You were right,” Firesong murmured. “This was the best dish washing experience I’ve ever had.” In reply, Silverfox kissed his neck and then his chest and stomach as he knelt down on the plush kitchen rug.

\---

Lyam awoke from his dream with a start. He fumbled to light a candle and then grabbed a blank journal from off of his shelf. Lyam had a whole stack of journals, and as he scrambled to get a fresh one, he knocked several more onto Tarrn’s head. (As Lyam had opposable thumbs and Tarrn did not, they had roomed together since long before they’d made it to k’Leshya Vale.)

: _What’s going on?_ : Tarrn Mindspoke. : _It’s the middle of the night._ :

“Shh, shh,” Lyam responded. “I have inspiration.”

Right there and then, in the dead of night, Lyam began writing down the play that had come to him in his dreams. He knew that if he returned to sleep in their shared den, it would have all fled his thoughts by morning.

“There’s a royal child,” Lyam explained to Tarrn as he wrote fervently, struggling to keep the dream fresh in his mind. “And something about a vegetable. Yes, yes, the child’s mother desperately craved a vegetable while pregnant.”

: _What kind of vegetable?_ :

“A, a, it was a root vegetable, not a carrot. First syllable had the ‘ah’ sound, ah ha! It was a cassava!” With that, the story clicked firmly in Lyam’s mind, and by the time the sun showed its head, the play was complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always had a great love for the stage. Were it not for my complete lack of talent at singing, dancing, and acting, I might have been a contender.


	2. A Prelude Pertaining to a Pilfered Prize Pike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purpose of this fan fic, I have decided that one Haighlei foot is equal to twelve Valdemaran thumb lengths. I will further be assuming that a candlemark is equal to an hour and than tree hares are just squirrels.

Awotwi’s parents were both lawyers who came from a long line of lawyers, as was right and proper in the Haighlei Empire. They loved each other as passionately as they loved the law. They had met through their work and had fallen in love over their work. They’d courted to contract law and married amidst legal disclaimers. Their first three children were born to disputes about copyrights, and their next three to a long running case involving the fine-point wording of an employment contract. Their seventh child came with a king’s marriage contract. Awotwi – their eighth and youngest child – was born to a lawsuit involving the mishandling of the coffin of an important personage, so maybe she was cursed to begin with.

Not that Awotwi would have known this when she was younger. Yes, there are challenges that come with being the eighth child. (Although her elder siblings would counter-point that as the youngest, she’d been coddled as the baby of the family.) Nevertheless, when Awotwi was twelve, her Mage Gift had been identified, and she’d entered the priesthood. It was not the dotted i’s and crossed t’s that would concern her future but the gods themselves.

Or, at least, that was supposed to be the case. Now, age twenty-two, Awotwi was being expelled from the priesthood. Her powers would soon be stripped from her, but first – and worse – she had to withstand a lecture from senior priestess Mudiwa.

Awotwi crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her eyes glanced from Mudiwa to the pike that lay across Mudiwa’s desk to the scenic view that lay outside of Mudiwa’s office window. The window gave a beautiful view of the heart of Khimbata, but Awotwi’s expression only soured.

“It’s not fair,” Awotwi said, turning back to face the senior priestess.

Mudiwa rubbed her temples. “No, it’s not fair. It’s not fair that a priestess who I spent so much time and effort training would, would disgrace herself so!”

“I’m the victim here,” Awotwi protested.

“Really?” Mudiwa asked, skepticism etched in every letter of the word. “Would you like to tell me, in your own words, what transpired yesterday?”

“Torran has an ugly face,” Awotwi answered promptly.

“That’s a subjective judgement, not a description of events. Perhaps you could start at the beginning?”

“In the beginning, the gods created the Haighlei-”

“Awotwi, you need to be taking this seriously!”

Arms crossed in front of her chest, Awotwi leaned back in her chair sullenly. “Torran k’Leshya and I were the two finalists of the Annual Royal Singing Contest. I was better, but His Highness awarded Torran the trophy.”

“And what happened after that?”

Awotwi’s arms were already crossed over her chest, so in order to cross them for effect, she had to first uncross them and then re-cross them emphatically. She did that.

“Torran took the singing trophy from me. It seemed only fair that I take her prize fish from her.”

Mudiwa glanced at the pike laid across her desk. Every ten years, trophy fishing contests were held across the Empire. Most of the fish were eaten, but the trophy fish were preserved and mounted. Torran, a medium-size gryphon of a hawk build, had captured an enormous, four-foot long pike and so taken home the prize. The prize pike had been mounted on a plank of wood, but Awotwi had removed the fish from the mount when she had taken it. She’d been halfway to freedom when one of the _kyree_ guards had barked an alarm.

“Does theft seem like proper priestess behavior to you?”

“I would have gotten away with it if not for that meddling dog,” Awotwi said.

“Awotwi, you tried to escape through the Throne Room, fish in full view.”

“I did try to conceal it.”

“In your breeches?”

“Where else was I going to hide it?”

“It’s four feet long.”

“I don’t see the relevance,” Awotwi said. Inside she wanted to curl up in a dark corner. She’d thought she’d been turning into an unused guest room with a window she could have exited out of, not the throne room. And of course, Court had run unexpectedly late the night of the heist. Her fish hiding attempt had been done in a flurry of haste and panic that had resulted in chuckles from the courtiers. But she was hardly going to admit that to Mudiwa. Instead, she muttered, “So much for my disguise.”

“A domino mask and a comically large fake mustache does not a disguise make.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

Mudiwa sighed. “I’m sorry, Awotwi. It’s time for me to take your powers from you.”

“This isn’t fair!” Awotwi protested again.

“How is it not fair?” Mudiwa demanded. “By your own tongue, you abused your powers!”

Awotwi rolled her eyes. “Not the first time I’ve ‘abused my powers’.” She had to uncross her arms to make proper air quotes.

“What.”

“I switched Baako’s sugar for salt because he cut in front of me at the lunch line.”

“That was you?”

“Duh. And I’m the one who hexed Chima’s braids to move like they were snakes.”

“Why?”

“She was so full of herself. Thought I’d bring her down a peg. And-”

“Enough, Awotwi. None of this is helping your case. It shows only that I erred in failing to act sooner.”

The elder priestess stood up and walked around her desk. For Awotwi, it was as if time slowed down. She was suddenly hyper-aware of her surroundings. Between her and the door was a chair, one of the fancy ones that had wheels. The door led to a hallway, and the floor of the hallway wasn’t perfectly level; it sloped down away from Mudiwa’s office.

Now Mudiwa was between Awotwi and the chair. The fish was on the desk. Behind Awotwi was the window. They were on the second floor. In a flash, Awotwi snatched the pilfered prize pike off of the desk and swung it at Mudiwa. It caught Mudiwa in the bosom, knocked her backwards into the chair and sent both the senior priestess and the chair careening down the hall. Awotwi continued the swing and then let go, sending the pike crashing through the window. For safety reasons, Haighlei windows shattered into tiny pieces when broken.

There was a drainpipe next to the window. Awotwi grabbed it and swung herself out of the window, intending to climb down the drainpipe. Here, she misjudged how much weight it could support. With a tearing sound, the drainpipe pulled away from the wall, and Awotwi landed rather heavily on a stand full of grapes. She was stained rather purple, but they had cushioned her fall.

The proprietor of the grape stand began swearing at her, but she ignored him. Grinning triumphantly, she pushed herself to her feet and darted down the street. The Haighlei Empire had not been feeling the effects of the ongoing Mage Storms as strongly as its neighbors to the north, and Awotwi trusted her magic enough to cast an illusion over her appearances. To anyone looking at her, they saw not a mage-priestess in grape-stained robes but rather a solitary zebra trotting down the street.

Thus enshrouded, Awotwi purchased supplies in the next plaza market over. (Downtown proprietors weren’t phased by anything, not even an apparent zebra patronizing them.) Feeling rather hungry after all that fish-swinging, she purchased a cucumber and a sea cucumber at a stand, which was having a two-for-one deal. The sea cucumber was still alive, contained in a small aquarium of water, magicked to keep it alive until it could be eaten. (Khimbata was far enough from the sea that much of the seafood could be bought alive for guaranteed freshness.)

Before Awotwi could purchase what she needed for meal preparations, she heard the whistle of the law behind her. She dropped the cucumber in her bag of supplies, tucked the sea cucumber in its aquarium under her arm, and set off at a brisk pace. The law was in hot pursuit behind her, but the general populace was quick to move out of the way of what they perceived to be a rampaging zebra.

As she ran, Awotwi took a moment to feel some gratitude to Mudiwa. The senior priestess was a firm believer that exercising the body was as important as exercising the spirit, mind, and magic. Awotwi could run for quite some time without being winded. In fact, Awotwi ran all the way out of the city and right into what proved to be a Change-circle.

It all happened rather quickly. One moment, Awotwi was running flat out. The next, a spasm of pain and nausea brought Awotwi up short. She spun around to see the officers of the law staring at her open mouthed as her illusion dropped away. Then it was like everything was vibrating. Awotwi had enough time to give the officers of the law a quick wave and a mocking “Tootles!” before she found her vision blurring. When it cleared, she was somewhere else entirely.

She assessed herself and her surroundings. It was cool, which suggested she was now somewhere more northward. Her supplies were still with her – except for the sea cucumber. The tank that had held it was now empty. She cursed Clan k’Leshya for that. She could hardly have sea cucumber with cucumber if she didn’t have a sea cucumber!

“Testing, testing,” she said out loud and smiled when she confirmed that she could still talk. She still had lips and a nose, two arms, two legs, ten fingers and ten toes. Her brow wrinkled. But something was different.

It took her a moment to place it, as it was a sensation so strange that she had nothing to which to compare it. And yet the sensation persisted. Eventually, she had to find a stream and stick her head under it to be sure. She had intended to hold it under for fifteen minutes to be sure, but after five, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

She brought her head up out of the water and found herself facing a man. His skin was very pale – even lighter in color than one sometimes found among the humans of Clan k’Leshya. From his clothes and the fact that he was holding a hoe, she judged him to be a farmer.

There were over a hundred languages and dialects spoken throughout the Haighlei Empire, and Awotwi had varying degrees of proficiency in all of them, but when the man spoke, it wasn’t in any language she understood. Huffing, she quickly worked a spell and instructed him – in his language – to repeat what he’d just said.

“All you all right, Miss?” the man asked again, this time understandably. “You had your head under for quite some time.”

“Clearly, I’m fine,” Awotwi said.

“You Clan k’Leshya?” he asked. “You look kind of like some of them.”

Awotwi ground her teeth. Torran had been one of the main backers of the plan for members of Clan k’Leshya to go north to find their long-lost cousins. She’d charmed kings and persuaded noblemen to empty their pockets. Torran’s duties as one of the king’s guards prevented her from going north herself, but it got Awotwi’s goat to hear that the endeavor had been a successful one.

“Are they nearby?” she asked.

The farmer helpfully gave her directions, explaining that his town had done some trading with them, but that it would be a bit of a walk to reach them. “You’re welcome to stay with us for a bit before going to them. It might be a bit crowded – we’ve got some of the Shin’a’in staying with us, too – but it ain’t right to leave a stranger stranded in times like these. They say the Final Cataclysm is coming soon, if those brave souls out on the Plains can’t stop it. I don’t think you’d make it to k’Leshya Vale in time.”

“I’ll manage.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’ll be on my way then,” Awotwi said, a plan forming in her mind. All this had happened because of Torran k’Leshya. The gryphon was too far away for Awotwi to extract her revenge against her directly, but at least she could ruin Torran’s crowning achievement. She’d find some way to undermine k’Leshya Vale and then laugh as Torran’s brave explorers returned home in failure.

“Wait!” the farmer called after her. Annoyed, Awotwi stopped and turned back to him. “Why did you have your head under water like that?”

“Never you mind,” Awotwi told him and continued once more on her way. She knew the answer to the question, however. Her education as a priestess-mage had been broad, and it had covered lessons in biology.

The sea cucumber hadn’t disappeared at all. It had been merged with Awotwi by the Change-circle. And the reason that Awotwi had had her head under the water?

She could now breathe through her anus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other animals I considered having Awotwi merge with: platypus, sloth, and cuttlefish. And yes, in the tradition of Spider-man, she now has all the powers and abilities of a sea cucumber.
> 
> I also considered having the fish Awotwi's stole be a herring so that I could call it the Herring Heist, but then I'd have to clarify if it was a red herring or not, and that would only cause more confusion.


	3. The Blue Green Detective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When this fan fic was still in the planning stages, I considered having Blue be a dyheli or a hertasi. I went with what I did because I judged it to have the most comedic potential.

Blue could have flown to k’Leshya Vale, but Lores – her Companion – insisted that she ride. Heralds, he maintained, rode their Companions. And it was true that Blue _could_ ride Lores, as she was a bit on the small side for a gryphon and Lores was a large stallion, nearly as tall as Kantor and actually a bit wider. Then again, she supposed that if he hadn’t been able to carry her, he wouldn’t have Chosen her.

There were those that thought that Blue had the record for fastest graduation from the Collegium, but that wasn’t true. It had taken Blue three years to earn her Whites. It was just that most of that time had been spent getting to the Collegium, with Lores teaching her as they traveled.

Blue had been born and raised on Urtho’s Island, which lay off the northwesterly coast of the continent amidst an icy sea. Until she’d been Chosen and started her travel to Haven, she had thought that humans were legendary creatures. Or at least probably extinct. Urtho’s Island had been settled in the wake of the Mage Wars by a band of Urtho’s gryphon soldiers desperately seeking a safe place. Legend told that the band had had non-gryphons with them, as well, but a terrible battle had left only gryphons with their wings as survivors. The legend had always had a profound effect on Blue, and she longed to be able to help those in need as her long-ago ancestors had been unable to do. She was ecstatic when she was Chosen, once she understood what that meant.

Her parents were just happy that there was someone to help her stop setting things on fire by accident. That was one of her gifts: Firestarting. Her other gifts were Mindspeaking and the Mage-Gift, although her Mage-Gift was on the weaker side. She was glad for the Mindspeaking; she would have been thoroughly lost when meeting Lores without it.

They left the same way that Lores had come, jumping from ice floe to ice floe until they reached the mainland. They traveled for a considerable distance before they met their first humans. Which – by Lores’ design – were the humans of k’Vala Vale. There were – he had explained – other human settlements he had bypassed, but he had chosen k’Vala Vale because the humans there were accustomed to intelligent non-humans.

They were even accustomed to gryphons, as Lores and Blue had arrived at the same time as some of the Kaled’a’in. Lores and Blue had stayed there a season, while Blue learned the Tayledras and Kaled’a’in languages. (Both languages were clearly related linguistically to what Blue had previously thought of as “just the way everyone talked”. Valdemaran, which Lores had taught her on the road, had been a lot harder to pick up.) Blue had learned a lot on the road with Lores but living in k’Vala Vale was an entirely new experience.

Interaction with intelligent non-gryphons carried with it a number of new concepts and rules. Luckily for everyone involved, Lores was there to guide Blue. For instance, when she was informed that dinner would be brought to her and a _hertasi_ showed up with a bucket of raw meat, Lores gently (but quickly) explained that the _hertasi_ was not part of the meal. Blue had been dreadfully contrite when she had realized that the _hertasi_ was an intelligent, thinking creature. The legends had spoken of _hertasi_ , but Blue had not recognized the small lizard-like creature for what they were. Afterward, she’d urgently asked Lores for a full list of intelligent non-gryphons and memorized the descriptions provided diligently. There hadn’t been any more mishaps, but when Blue hunted, she found herself preferring to avoid deer, dreadfully afraid she’d take a _dyheli_ by mistake.

After time at k’Vala Vale, they journeyed on into Valdemar so that Blue could properly enroll at the Collegium. It was there that Blue earned her nickname. Before that, she’d gone by her birthname, Kecharake’urtho. She rather preferred her nickname. Her birthname meant “Beloved of God”, which had always made her feel rather self-conscious. After all, wasn’t it said that Great Urtho loved all gryphons? Blue suited her better, and besides, she had earned that name.

She had arrived at the Collegium at a time of great upheaval. The Mage-Storms were sending everything awry and a group had just left for the Dhorisha Plains to enact a plan to stop it. As it was, everyone was too distracted by everything to pay much attention to Blue, who, after all, was the first ever gryphon Herald. That was well enough, as far as Blue was concerned, for adjusting to life at the Collegium was a task in and of itself.

Thankfully, she had help. One of the Weaponsmasters, Herald Alberich, was assigned to Blue as a mentor. Like her, he’d once been a stranger at the Collegium, and like her, he’d been Chosen as an adult. Certainly, there was a lot she needed help with. Clothes were one such issue, and that was what had led to her nickname.

Lores had absolutely insisted that Blue wear the uniform of the Herald trainee. Alberich had snorted derisively at that, clad in his shadow-grays as he was, but Lores was Blue’s Companion, so Blue had deferred to him. Of course, this meant that Blue’s uniform would have to be specially made and would therefore not, as Alberich pointed out, be very uniform at all. Nevertheless, he’d encouraged her to learn all about how the clothes of the Herald trainees were made, and Blue had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the task.

It was absolutely fascinating. The uniforms were all supplied by Lord Cropper, who had an estate not far outside of Haven. He’d been rather taken back by Blue’s eager questions, and Blue’s reassurances that she would most definitely not eat him did not put him at ease at all. When she’d asked to see his books, he’d thrust them at her and then hastily moved to another room in his mansion.

The books engrossed Blue as she learned how Lord Cropper’s operation went. He bought dyes in bulk (30 silvers a barrel for gray, 40 silvers a barrel for red and green, and 50 silvers a barrel for blue) and yarn by the skein. He dyed the uniforms after making them and sold exclusively to the Crown. For that, he only paid taxes on his profits, rather than on the gross. There was information on the amount he paid for labor (100 silvers a season) and how much the Crown paid for the finished uniforms (3-5 gold, depending on the variety).

Blue frowned when she examined the numbers for the uniforms provided. The uniform sales, Blue had learned from her questions of Lord Cropper, provided for the bulk of his revenue. Yet the profits reported were less than Blue would have expected, given the fine clothing his family wore in the latest fashions and the expensive food she’d seen served at mealtime. Blue asked Lores to ask Kantor to ask Alberich to check the number of sales recorded in the Collegium records. When the answer came back to Blue, it became clear that Lord Cropper was reporting only a quarter of the number of sales in his records than what the Collegium listed as having received. With fewer profits on record, Lord Cropper paid less in taxes than he owed.

With backup on the way, Blue went to confront Lord Cropper. She’d found him in the dye room, where big vats of coloring stood ready for the undyed uniforms to be dipped in them. There was a walkway that ran up above the vats, to make the clothes easier to dip and pull out. It was there that Blue found Lord Cropper, and she flew up to question him. When she began asking him about the books, he’d positively panicked. Stepping back away from her, he’d fallen backward over the railing into the vat of blue dye.

Blue had gone after him immediately, but not before he’d gone under. So she’d taken a deep breath and dove down to find him. Gryphons weren’t made for swimming, but Blue had grown up on an island, and in the warmer months, she’d gone for dips in the ocean and so did know how to swim. There wasn’t much room in the vat for anything but a fully grown man and smallish gryphon, and Blue had been able to retrieve him and pull them both out of the vat before either of them could suffer any damage. Of course, they were both dyed a deep blue, and it was in that state that Alberich found them.

“For a rookie, not so much green as blue are you, no?” Alberich remarked after he’d congratulated her on her work.

“Better to be dyed than have died,” Blue replied.

Lord Cropper was fined heavily for his crimes, and he lost his contract with the Crown. The Queen herself thanked Blue for her diligence. By that time – and without anyone knowing exactly who had started it – everyone was calling the first gryphon Herald “Blue”. Blue was happy to answer to it, so even after she eventually got back to her usual coloring, the nickname stuck.

When Blue and Lores were close to k’Leshya Vale, Lores Mindspoke with Cymry, who alerted her Chosen of their impending arrival. Blue had never met Skif before. He, his Companion, and his lady Nyara had been sent to k’Leshya as ambassadors right before Blue and Lores had arrived in Haven; they’d missed them by no more than a day. Still, Blue had heard of them and had been warned that Nyara was a Changechild. After further inquiries, Blue had added Changechildren to her mental Do Not Eat list. Nyara was with Skif and his Companion when Blue and Lores drew near the entrance to the Vale, and Blue was surprised to see that Nyara did not look all that different from Skif or any other human. That was a relief.

“Oh,” Skif said when he saw them. “Gryphon.” He shook his head to regain his composure and made the proper introductions.

“Do all Changechildren look like you?” Blue inquired as they started to walk into the Vale.

“Oh, um, no,” Nyara said. “We vary in appearance.”

“I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d go over the specifics with me soon,” Blue said earnestly.

“Why?” Skif asked tersely.

“I wouldn’t want to harm an intelligent creature out of ignorance,” Blue answered solemnly, “nor a creature valued and loved by an intelligent creature, such as Bondbirds.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“I’m really excited to mentor under you, Herald Skif. Herald Griffon was my Firestarting teacher, and he told me all about you. I can’t believe you were the Queen’s Own’s first love!”

“Ooo,” Nyara teased. “What’s this about you and Talia?”

“Nothing!” Skif insisted. “She’s like a sister to me.”

“A sister?” Blue asked, confused, “Isn’t-“

“ _Like_ a sister,” Skif clarified. “Besides, we never- We just told everyone-”

“Yes?” Blue pressed. “I find human courtship to be absolutely fascinating.”

“You certainly ask a lot of questions,” Skif said weakly.

“Please be patient with me; I grew up on an island with only gryphons, and I’m dreadfully eager to cure myself of my ignorance.”

“Ah. Right,” Skif said.

Gryphons have very good hearing, so as the group began to walk into the Vale, Blue heard Nyara teasingly whisper to Skif, “You _are_ her mentor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue gets a lot of questions about her I Don't Eat Intelligent Non-gryphons shirt that are answered by her shirt.


	4. The Oldest Shaych Bar in Sunhame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, the illustration for this chapter might be a little NSFW.

Master Bard Clydesdale Hackamore had just finished up for the night at the oldest shaych bar in Sunhame. It was a borderline religious experience to just sit in the place, let alone play there, and Clydesdale considered it an honor that he had able to record the previously secret history of the establishment. It had been founded some seventy years prior by two lovers. It had lasted in part because one of the pair, who had served as a healing priest of Vkandis, was the third-born son of a powerful, noble family in Sunhame.

To reach the bar – known to its patrons as the Eternal Sunrise – one first had to enter Glory to the Sun House of Healing. The healing mage had established that, and it really was a House of Healing. When one entered, after a reception area, there was a hallway with ten doors on the left and ten doors on the right. At the end of the hall was a door that led to living quarters for the founder. The twenty doors along the hall led to patient rooms or hallways with more patient rooms or storage rooms or breakrooms for the Healers. It could all be quite confusing, which prevented all but those in the know from learning the House’s secret.

The ninth door on the right led to the hallway. If one took that, one could then open the fourth door on the left. This seemingly led to nothing more than a storage room with only a small closet at the back. However, if one opened the closet, turned left and then right within it, one would discover that it led to a narrow hallway. Follow this long enough to be out of earshot, and one would find oneself in the Eternal Sunrise. The bar had no windows, of course, for windows would allow for the prying eyes of the priests. But it was well lit with paintings of Vkandis as the morning sunrise along the walls. The nobleman-turned-healing-priest had run the House of Healing, and his lover the Eternal Sunrise.

In the days before Solaris, no one got in without an invitation from the proprietor, who invited people only if they were known to a long-term patron. And then only after the proprietor checked them out. This diligence and scrutiny and suspicion had helped to allow the Eternal Sunrise to stay in operation as long as it had. Even after Solaris had done away with the taboo against same-sex relationships, provided they were between consenting adults, the Eternal Sunrise had been reluctant to throw its doors wide open. Still, word of its existence began to be whispered a bit more freely, and it was in that manner that Clydesdale had found it.

The only two people left in the bar other than Clydesdale were Franz Burgstaller and Henrik Gensch. A few years back, the two had been picked to inherit the bar and the House of Healing. Franz now ran the bar, and Henrik took care of the House of Healing, although he did not have the Healing Gift himself. The original proprietors were mostly retired at this point, although they still could be found at the Eternal Sunrise most nights, enjoying their twilight years together.

Franz and Henrik had been soldiers in the Sunsguard before they had retired. As it happened – or, perhaps, proving that it’s a small world, after all – they had served under Captain Alberich in the days before he was Chosen. “It was rough after he went riding out of here on that horse of his,” Franz had said after the connection had been realized. “They checked us over twice for magic lest he’d corrupted us.” “But we’re glad to hear he made it out,” Henrik had added. “We think he might have known about us, but if he did, he never turned us in, bless him.”

Being a Bard, Clydesdale’s weapons training usually wouldn’t have been extensive, except that he came from a sturdy, well-built farming family. Clydesdale might have been an accomplished musician, but when it was learned how strong he was, Alberich had had him trained in the use of a large war hammer. He kept it strapped to his back, right next to his flageolet. The other instrument he played, the hurdy-gurdy, was stored safely back at his room, as he hadn’t needed it for the night.

With the last of the patrons gone, Clydesdale was cleaning his flageolet while the Franz and Henrik wiped the counters. They chatted about the latest news as they worked. The news, of course, had been the talk of the bar all evening. The Mage Storms were done! It was Henrik who’d brought the news when the bar had first opened, and now that it was quiet, Clydesdale had a chance to pepper him with questions.

“How’d you hear?” he asked.

“It’s my cousin,” Henrik explained. “You know, the one who’s a maid for Solaris? Well, Altra – remember, that’s Karal Austreben’s firecat – well, he got in touch with Solaris’ firecat Hansa, and he gave her the news. And Solaris was giving the news to one of her priests when my cousin overheard.”

“Is Firesong going back to Valdemar?” Cydesdale asked.

Henrik shook his head. “My cousin didn’t get everything – she was eavesdropping, after all – but she did hear a comment about how Firesong was going to make a stir at k’Leshya Vale.”

“Looking to rekindle an old flame?” Franz teased.

“Not that old,” Clydesdale protested. “He just had to go do some mission for the Crown, and I wanted to come down here, since Valdemar’s history of Karse is so scant. But yes, I do think I shall look him up. The end of the Mage Storms deserves many ballads.” Firesong had not been easy to win over, for all Clydesdale’s talents at blowing his flageolet. He’d prevailed when Firesong had objected to Clydesdale’s chief rival – Captain Jon Ashkevron – on the grounds that the officer was a distant cousin of Firesong’s. Captain Ashkevron had protested that they weren’t _that_ closely related, but Firesong had refused to budge. He’d given Clydesdale a black feather, explaining that it was a token of his interest in Clydesdale. He had said that he would have braided it into Clydesdale’s hair, but Clydesdale – already intending at that point to visit Karse – had cut his hair short in that style, so Firesong had pinned it to a bit of wire so that Clydesdale could wear it as a minimalist crown. Clydesdale didn’t have it anymore, though; Firesong had asked for it back right before he’d left. He liked to think that Firesong had wanted it to remember Clydesdale by.

Henrik interrupted Clydesdale’s thoughts. “Now, don’t go getting all your information from only one source now.”

Clydesdale laughed. “Yes, yes, I intend to talk to all of them in turn. But it would be cruel of me to make Firesong wait, don’t you think?”

The two other men roared with laughter and sent him on his way with encouraging comments. He whistled to himself as he packed up his bag back at his room. There were Shin’a’in staying in Sunhame due to the Mage Storms. Soon, they’d be heading back to the Dhorisha Plains. With his playing, Clydesdale expected he could bum a ride with them and make the rest of the way to k’Leshya Vale on his own. With luck, he’d be able to find someone in the group who could teach him Tayledras or maybe even Kaled’a’in. 

\---

Skif was trying not to stare as they rode into the Vale, but it was hard. He’d seen a gryphon before, of course. He had just never seen a gryphon clad in shirt, tunic, and trewes, all of a pristine white. That is, he’d never seen a gryphon in shirt, tunic, and trewes of any color. Even the Silver Gryphons that were actual gryphons didn’t wear much more than was needed for functionality, but there was Blue, all dressed up just like any Herald would be. Well, there were some concessions, Skif noted as they rode. Blue did not wear shoes, and holes had been cut to allow for her wings and tail. The saddle was different, as well. There were two sets of stirrups, rather than one, and the Companion – Lores, Cymry had informed him – did not have any sort of bridle, and there were no reigns. There was a pack, Skif realized after a minute, but Blue was laying across it. He realized that as big as she was – although she was very small for a gryphon – there was no room for the pack to be set behind her. For that matter, he was surprised that Lores could carry her at all. What was he going to do when she got bigger?

: _Blue is fully grown,_ : Cymry told him and Nyara. : _She’s just small. Lores says that on the island she’s from, she’s from a smaller breed that developed, and she’s small even by that standard._ :

“Do gryphons on your island usually wear clothes?” Nyara asked. “I only ask because the gryphons in k’Leshya Vale – they did tell you there are gryphons here, right? – don’t. I wouldn’t want you to be shocked.”

“Oh, no,” Blue answered cheerfully, “I never wore clothes until I got to the Collegium. But I’m a full Herald now. If I don’t wear my Whites, how will those in need know that they can trust me?”

: _Lores says Heralds wear Whites,_ : Cymry Mindspoke to Skif and Nyara. : _He says that’s just the way things are done._ :

As they rode deeper into the Vale, Blue was appropriately appreciative. It was true that there was nothing magicked at the moment due to the Mage Storms, but the k’Leshya Clan had done great work after they’d taken over the Vale. All of the modifications to the _ekeles_ had been completed, and the paths had all been cleared.

As they approached the center of the Vale, Skif was surprised to see nearly everyone gathered in a large crowd. “I guess I can introduce you to everyone at once,” Skif said. As the crowd turned their eyes to them, Skif cleared his throat and said, “This is Herald Blue and her Companion Lores. She’s going to be interning under me here for the next year and a half.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Blue said in smooth Kaled’a’in. “I look forward to serving the community as the junior envoy.” She dismounted, and several _hertasi_ came forward to take her pack and remove Lores’ tack.

Another _hertasi_ darted through the legs of the larger members of the community in the crowd and stopped in front of the newcomers. Skif recognized the _hertasi_ as the scribe Lyam. He waved cheerfully at them.

“You’re just in time,” he told them cheerfully, “The auditions are about to start!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For here on out, the chapters will be more linear, with less skipping around in time.


	5. The Casting of the Wicked Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man, I miss going to the theatre. I'm so going to need to go see a production of something once that's safe to do.

Firesong and Silverfox were in the crowd when the new Herald arrived. Firesong was wearing a red mask that made him look like a fox. They watched as Lyam spoke to the new arrivals, and then the playwright darted through the crowd back to the center, where Tarrn still sat. He pitched his voice so that everyone could hear him clearly.

“Attention everyone! Auditions will be held in one candlemark in Tarrn Hall Theatre.”

“Excuse me,” Silverfox said, “but what’s Tarrn Hall Theatre?”

“You mean we don’t have a theatre?” Firesong asked. He’d thought that he’d been everywhere in k’Leshya Vale since returning from the Dhorisha Plains, but he was willing to allow that he might have missed something.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Silverfox said.

“We didn’t yesterday,” Lyam explained, “but we do now.” He nodded to several of the other _hertasi_ in the crowd, who nodded back while looking smug. Then Lyam pitched his voice again, “Tarrn Hall Theatre is at the south end of the Vale. You can’t miss it.”

“But what are we auditioning for?” Firesong asked.

“My new play,” Lyam explained, a sparkle in his eye.

: _I’m producing,_ : added Tarrn. : _And funding it._ :

“It’s called-“ Here Lyam made a sweeping motion with his hand to acknowledge the grandiose nature of the story. “-Cassava.”

“Like the root?” Silverfox asked.

Lyam stamped his foot. “Don’t rush genius at work.”

“Forgive me,” Silverfox said. “Do go on.”

Tarrn had a bag draped around his neck, and Lyam fished a thick script out of it so that he could wave it about emphatically. “There’s a queen and a king. The queen is pregnant, and she is having a dreadful craving for cassava. As it happens, there’s a wicked witch who lives next door, on the other side of a high wall, who grows cassava. So the king sneaks over the wall to steal some of the cassava. He gets caught by the wicked witch, who agrees to give him cassava for his wife the queen if he in turn hands over their baby when the baby is born.

“The baby is named Prince or Princess Cassava – this will be open casting – and grows up to have really, really long hair – hair so long you could climb it like a rope.” Firesong didn’t say anything here, but he did nudge Silverfox meaningfully as Lyam continued explaining the plot. “One day, a prince or princess from another kingdom – Prince or Princess Amiedi – comes riding by. Now, the wicked witch had locked Cassava in a tall tower, but Amiedi sees them and immediately falls deeply in love, for they are a lifebonded couple.”

“Excellent,” Firesong said, mistaking Lyam’s pause for breath as him being done. “I call the role of Prince Amiedi!”

“No, no, no,” Lyam said, “You have to audition.”

“Um, excuse me,” the new gryphon Herald asked. Firesong saw that she had managed to squeeze her way through the crowd. “Oh, hello, everyone. I’m Blue, and this is my Companion Lores. But my question was, are we allowed to audition?”

“Absolutely,” Lyam said. “This is community theatre. Everyone is allowed to audition.”

Not everyone was interested in auditioning, but the crowd that followed Lyam to Tarrn Hall Theatre included Firesong, Silverfox, Skif, Nyara, Blue, and Lores. It included Brightwings only part of the way, as she inquired if Lyam would need help with set design. He affirmed that he would, and her eyes positively gleamed as she told him that she would be happy to assist. Aya flew overhead, trailing false sparks behind him.

“Lyam seems really intense about this, doesn’t he?” Firesong commented to Silverfox as they walked. They were in the middle of the crowd. Lyam was up front, out of hearing.

“Oh, Lyam is always passionate about his personal projects,” Silverfox replied. “I do question the character names, mind you. I’m suddenly craving eba and amiedi!”

“Hm?”

“Haighlei dish,” Silverfox explained. “Eba is made with cassava, and it’s commonly served with amiedi – that’s a banga soup.” As they walked, Silverfox chatted about how amiedi was prepared, which seemed to only make him hungrier. By the time they reached Tarrn Hall Theatre, Silverfox was promising to make the dish for Firesong that evening, which left Firesong indebted to Lyam for his character name choices.

Firesong gave a low whistle when Tarrn Hall Theatre came into view. The _hertasi_ who had constructed it had outdone themselves. The marble building – Firesong didn’t question how or where the _hertasi_ had obtained marble; he simply accepted that they had – rose up at least two stories and was big enough to fit the entire Clan inside if they had wished it. There were alcoves all along the outside, and within these stood statues. Firesong grinned with pride when he saw that one of the statues was of his own person, standing next to a statue of Silverfox. As his eyes observed the other statues, he recognized Karal, An’desha, Lyam, Tarrn, and everyone else who had prevented the Final Cataclysm, along with numerous other individuals he did not recognize.

“Look! That’s Amberdrake!” Silverfox said excitedly, grabbing Firesong’s arm and pointing to one of the statues. “And the statue of the gryphon next to him is Skandranon, and the _hertasi_ on the other side is Gesten. And that one’s King Shalaman.”

At the door, Firesong held up an arm, and Aya landed on it. When they entered Tarrn Hall Theatre, the inside proved to be no less luxurious. There was a lobby area where theatre goers could purchase tickets and snacks, facilities off to the sides, and red carpets that led to the doors to the theatre itself. Through them the prospective actors discovered that there were two levels of comfortable seats, as well as some private boxes. (Aya flew up and settled on the edge of one of these.) Down past the front row was the area for an orchestra, and then there was the stage itself. Lush black curtains covered the stage, and when they prospective cast following Lyam pushed past them, they saw that there were more curtains that hid a back area from view.

“First role will be for Prince Cassava,” Lyam announced. Skif and Silverfox both expressed an interest in this role.

Skif raised his hand and then pointed at Silverfox’s long locks. “I don’t know if this is a fair audition.”

“If you win the part, a wig will be provided,” Lyam told him curtly. “Now cry, both of you.”

Skif’s childhood had prepared him well to summon tears on cue, but right when he was about to begin, he caught the look on Firesong’s face. Skif would have thought that Firesong’s mask would have impeded his ability to give a proper death glare, but somehow, Firesong managed. Skif’s talents deserted him, and he choked.

Silverfox, on the other hand, wibbled. His eyes brimmed with tears and he gave a vulnerable sniffle. Then a single tear rolled down his cheek. Lyam’s eyes positively widened in glee at Silverfox’s performance. There were other tasks put before the two men after that, but Skif wasn’t surprised when Silverfox got the role.

Nyara gave him a sympathetic pat on the back after Lyam announced his decision. “Why don’t you try out for the role of Prince Amiedi?” she suggested.

Skif cast a weary glance at Firesong. “I don’t need two disappointments in one day.”

Firesong did land the role of Prince Amiedi, leaning on his powerful stage presence. Nightshower had intended to audition for that role, but he hadn’t been paying attention when Lyam had announced that one, as he’d been reminiscing about his last session with Silverfox. Oh, that had been wonderful! He and Silverfox were well past massages now. The only sour part had been when he’d run into Firesong on the path outside as he was leaving. They’d exchanged requisite greetings. Nightshower, feeling daring, had told Firesong how wonderful Silverfox was. Firesong had politely – ever so politely – responded that Silverfox took his _job_ seriously. Then he’d thanked Nightshower for “getting him warmed up for me”. It was only after Firesong had gone up the ramp to the _ekele_ and was therefore out of earshot that Nightshower thought of a clever reply.

“The next two roles I’ll be casting for are for Queen Mother and King Father,” Lyam said. “These rehearsals are going to be done jointly.” He held up a clearly well-loved stuffed bear, being careful to avoid dropping the extra scripts he held under his left arm. “This is Rocko,” he said. “He’s going to serve as Baby Cassava for this audition. The scene for the rehearsal is the one where King Father takes Baby Cassava from Queen Mother so that he can give her to the Wicked Witch. You can find it on Page 6. I want to see emotion, people! Who wants to go first?”

Blue shyly raised a hand. “May I? Lores has been explaining the concept of ‘acting’ and ‘theatre’ to me, and I think it would be good fun to try.”

“Okay, who’ll be King Father with you?”

“How about Lores?”

Lyam glanced at the Companion, who nodded. Lyam gave Blue a script. She read it and then set it off to the side. Lyam held the second script so that Lores could read it. Once Lores nodded that he’d read what he needed, Lyam handed Rocko to Blue, who dropped the stuffed bear on the ground. Lores – tail swishing, hooves lifted high - trotted over to her. Blue glanced at her script and read the lines in a pleasant, conversational tone of voice.

“No. You mustn’t take our baby. Please.” Gryphons don’t have lips that would allow them to smile like a human, but Blue positively beamed as Lores neighed again and snatched “Baby Cassava” with his teeth.

“Reach for your child,” Lyam hissed. Blue glanced at the stage directions and then held her arms up. Lores reared up on his hind legs, spun around, and sped across the stage, the pretend infant swaying precariously in his grip.

“Um… your Companion can Mindspeak, right?” Lyam asked.

“Of course,” Blue said. “But he says that Companions only speak to their Chosen.”

Lyam rubbed his temples. “Okay, next duo.” There was silence from the prospective actors. Lyam looked around the room. “Anyone?” Blank stares met Lyam in return, and it occurred to the playwright that he had perhaps been a little pushy in trying to see his dream realized. As no one continued to volunteer, he swallowed hard and in a meek voice said, “Okay, Blue and Lores. I guess you’ve got the roles.”

“Yay!” Blue said.

The casting continued. Nyara landed the role of Narrator, a hertasi named Alona got the role of Thorn Bush, and Nightshower and an assortment of other aspiring actors were cast as trees, the chorus, or backup dancers. Nightshower was Third Tree from Stage Left. That put him next to Tarrn, who in addition to producing and funding the play had been cast as Second Tree from Stage Left.

Lyam was about to call for everyone to break for the day when he realized with a start that he hadn’t cast anyone as the Wicked Witch. However, the only one on the stage who hadn’t been cast yet was Skif. Lyam was about to have him audition when they all heard one of the doors of the theatre open and close. Everyone turned in that direction.

“You have fallen before me,” proclaimed a voice from the other side of the curtains that hid the audience area from the stage. Lyam poked his nose through the curtains and saw that a woman (who looked to be either from White Gryphon or somewhere else in the Haighlei Empire, although he didn’t recognize her) had entered. She continued to speak as she approached the stage. She spoke in a low, menacing tone of voice that nevertheless carried perfectly. “You took food from my mouth, and that is why I have made you pay. Now grovel at my feet in the manner that suits you best!”

Lyam’s mouth was agape by the time the woman had reached the stage. He made a frantic gesture, and the front most curtains were drawn. The woman blinked it surprise to see all the eyes on her. Lyam rushed to greet the woman, nearly babbling. “I didn’t write that. I need to write that down. I don’t know who you are-”

“Awotwi. Dr. Awotwi.”

“-but you’ve got the role.”

“What?” Awotwi asked, menace replaced by puzzlement. Lyam was too beside himself with excitement to notice.

“Everyone, please meet the Wicked Witch of the play!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clydesdale will be making his reappearance next chapter, and with all the suspects in one place, the mystery can get properly underway!


	6. The New Thorn Bush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Within the confines of a theatre, the director of a play has the same legal powers as an absolute monarch. True fact. 
> 
> (Not actually a true fact.)

Rehearsals started the next day, after everyone had finished with their other responsibilities and obligations for the day. Silverfox and Firesong arrived together, having left Aya snoozing back at their _ekele_. Firesong had gone with a mask in purple that resembled a giant butterfly for the day, which contrasted his golden skin nicely. This he paired with purple mage robes that had sequins sewed into them. Nightshower looked up when they came in. Firesong slipped his arm around Silverfox’s perfect shoulders. Silverfox lifted Firesong’s scarred hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. Nightshower forced his eyes back on his script.

Awotwi entered then. She wore an outfit in a popular Khimbatan style. While less flamboyant than Firesong’s wear, she too had a powerful presence to her, such that everyone momentarily looked up when she entered the room. Silverfox waved to Awotwi when he saw her. She nodded back at them.

“So what brings you to k’Leshya Vale?” Silverfox asked. “We weren’t expecting anyone from the Haighlei Empire to join us.”

“And how’d you get here?” Firesong asked.

“Pleasure,” Awotwi said to Silverfox. To Firesong she smirked and said, “Magic.”

“Okay, but you couldn’t have Gated here unless you’ve been here previously.” He gave her an inquiring look.

“Nope,” she told him.

“Did someone redirect your Gate?” he asked. “The only ones I know that can do that are Forefather and, of course, myself, but if someone else figured it out, I should know.”

“Not that,” Awotwi said. She tapped an index finger against her chin. “You know, I think I’ll keep you guessing.”

“Come on!” Firesong cried as she skipped off.

Silverfox chuckled and put his hand on his love’s shoulder. “A little mystery won’t hurt you. Besides, we don’t have to worry about powerful mages causing problems for a while, right? So even if someone malicious repeated whatever she did, they wouldn’t be able to do anything.”

“Yeah,” Firesong agreed, making a sweeping gesture at the dissipated magical energies that Silverfox couldn’t see. “She’s an Adept, too, but we might as well both be Apprentices at the moment. If she did come by magic, she _must_ have come earlier.”

“Or she could have come by donkey and be teasing you,” Silverfox pointed out. “Honestly, I’m not surprised she came; there’s plenty of mages who don’t wish the life of the clergy. Some of them come to White Gryphon, but there are restrictions there, too.”

“She didn’t have much with her,” a voice said, and the two men looked down to see the _hertasi_ Alona suddenly next to them. “We put her in one of the unused _ekele_ , and some of us are working on getting her some more outfits. We think she would look good in gold.”

“That she would,” Silverfox agreed.

“Places, everyone!” Lyam shouted, as rehearsals began.

Awotwi was directed to rehearse the scene with Lores where he barters with her for the cassava. Lores was, as far as Awotwi could tell, a horse. Awotwi had never seen an actor who was a horse before, but she presumed that things were just different up north. Besides, she was biding her time. The play would be the perfect cover. She just had to play the part. And she would be more careful from now on out. No more rehearsing her victory speech out loud, even if she thought she was alone.

“Foul man! How dare you steal from me?” she read from the script. Half her mind was on what shape her revenge would take. Maybe she could give all of the _kyree_ fleas?

Awotwi frowned when the horse, instead of saying, “Please, it’s for my pregnant wife. She wants cassava more than anything,” the horse neighed at her.

“That’s not your line,” Awotwi snapped at her co-actor, and as the phrase, “you sack of pre-assembled glue ingredients” followed, she had the idea for her revenge. Priestesses were taught to understand people and what made them tick, for priestesses held the hopes of the desperate. The same tools that could be used to construct could be used to deconstruct. Words could sting. Words could hurt. Awotwi would use her words to break the community apart so that everyone would decide to just go back to White Gryphon. She set off immediately to put her plan into motion. As she did so, she passed Blue and Lyam, who were in heated conversation and gave pointed looks at Awotwi as they went by.

“Lores said that she’s being mean to him,” Blue insisted.

“It’s called method acting,” Lyam responded. “Besides, Lores needs to deliver his lines.”

“I told you,” Blue said, “he said that Companions talk only to their Chosen. I can’t force him. Maybe I could say the lines for both of us?”

Lyam ran his hands down his face in a helpless gesture and then peeled away to where Skif and Nyara were. “Please take the role of King Father,” Lyam hissed at Skif.

Skif looked at him doubtfully. “I’m supposed to be mentoring Blue. If I replace her Companion in the play, it could hurt our working relationship.”

“I am desperate.”

“Let me think about it, okay?”

Awotwi wandered over to where Firesong and Silverfox were practicing together. “I’m just not sure I understand my character motivation,” Silverfox was saying.

Firesong gave his love a teasing grin. “I think you’re supposed to just look really beautiful the entire play.” He cocked his head to the side. “You shouldn’t have any difficulty with that.” Firesong consulted his script and tried out one of his lines. “Woe! Tragedy! The thorn bush has stuck out my eyes!” Nearby, Alona – the _hertasi_ who’d been cast in the role of Thorn Bush – flashed him the thumbs up sign. Then she went back to frowning at her script. Her role had stage directions but no lines.

Awotwi drew near Firesong and Silverfox. She addressed the former. “You’re overdressed,” she sneered at him. “Who matches their mask with their day wear?”

Firesong was undaunted. “An actor who doesn’t need method acting to achieve an emotional response,” he retorted.

Awotwi turned on Silverfox. “Your hair is really long. Do you ever trip over it?”

Silverfox smiled encouragingly at her. “Well done. You’re going to be great in the role.”

“Do you feel insulted? Demeaned?”

He nodded. “I usually charge people for that, but Lyam really wants this play to be a success, so whatever helps you get into the mindset of the Wicked Witch.”

At that point, Awotwi gave up on her first plan for revenge, vowing to herself that she’d go back to the drawing board and come up with an even better idea. A minute after she decided that, Clydesdale Hackamore arrived. Decked head to toe in scarlet, with his flageolet and war hammer strapped to his back and his hurdy-gurdy under one arm, he strolled over to where Firesong was rehearsing. His hair was yellower than when Firesong had last seen him, but it was the same Bard he’d once tumbled.

“Well, hello Stranger,” Clydesdale said with an easy grin. He looked Firesong up and down with a wolfish smile. “Best dressed person in the room, as always.”

“Clydesdale? What are you doing here?”

Clydesdale stuck out his lower lip in a mock pout. “You didn’t think I’d let anyone else record your heroic deeds, did you? And maybe afterward, I could give you a private performance.” Clydesdale went to trail his fingers along Firesong’s chest and then frowned when Firesong stepped back out of reach.

Firesong coughed, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Clydesdale, I’d like you to meet Silverfox k’Leshya. My lover. Silverfox, this is Bard Clydesdale Hackamore. I don’t think I ever mentioned him, but he kept me company in Valdemar. Before An’desha, that is.”

“You dated An’desha?” Clydesdale asked. It rather wasn’t the most pressing question he wanted answered, but his mind was a whirl, and it was the first that popped out of his mouth.

“Wait, _you_ know An’desha?”

“I know of him. I traveled with his Clan out of Karse,” Clydesdale explained. “He was all they talked about the whole trip.” Then he forced his mind to focus and stared at Silverfox.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Silverfox said.

“I-“ Clydesdale said, feeling rather un-Bard-like in his loss of words. He shifted his gaze to Firesong. “You said I did a wonderful job- uh, ‘brushing your hair.’”

“Dale,” Firesong said patiently, “lots of people brush my hair.” He pointed down at Alona. “Alona here brushes my hair.”

Clydesdale’s lips curled in disgust. “You’re sleeping with THAT?”

The effect of his words was instantaneous. Alona gave a wretched sob and ran out of the theatre. Lyam was over in a flash.

“What did you do?” he shouted at Clydesdale. Then, not waiting for an answer, he darted after Alona.

“I asked for my feather back,” Firesong told Clydesdale pointedly.

Clydesdale’s gaze went back to Silverfox. He had a fine, silver chain woven into his hair, and along the length of the chain were pure white feathers. The chain encircled his brow like a crown and then was braided down the left side of his head, going down to his waist. It was so alike the feather hair ornament that Firesong had once given him and then taken back, but a hundred thousand times more elaborate.

“You’re breaking up with me?” Clydesdale asked, his heart caught in his throat.

“No,” Firesong said, shaking his head slowly, “I already did, back when I left for Hardorn.”

“But-”

“It’s over,” Firesong said.

“No, it’s not,” Lyam said, returning.

Clydesdale looked down his nose at the _hertasi_ director. “What? Are you sleeping with Firesong, too?”

“I’m not sleeping with Alona!” Firesong protested.

“It would be unprofessional for me to sleep with a member of my cast,” Lyam said at the same time.

“Member of your cast?” Clydesdale asked dimly.

“Of the play we’re putting on,” Firesong snipped. “Hence why we’re in a theatre?”

“So I won’t be sleeping with you, either,” Lyam said firmly. “Alona says she’s out. She’s going to work in costumes, instead.” Lyam gave Clydesdale a contemptuous look. “I was going to have you replace the horse, but you cost me my Thorn Bush, so I’m demanding that you replace her in that role!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Awotwi's next plan, she's written to the ACME Corporation for their latest product.


	7. Slander on Set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture in this chapter might be a little NSFW.

Nightshower was yawning when he arrived for the second day of rehearsals. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, but all thoughts of exhaustion fled his mind when he saw Firesong and Silverfox together. Firesong was wearing mage robes in pure white so that he gleamed like one of the Heralds. Here Nightshower realized that Skif was nowhere to be seen, although Nyara had arrived. Even if Skif didn’t have a role, Nightshower thought he would have come out to support his love. If Silverfox had a role and Nightshower didn’t, certainly Nightshower would have come out to support him.

Firesong ran his hand along Silverfox’s chest, and Nightshower felt his throat grow tight. He hated – HATED! – that Firesong didn’t have to pay Silverfox for the privilege, when Nightshower did. An image danced in Nightshower’s head, of Firesong held tightly in Silverfox’s arms, of Firesong draped in Silverfox’s hair. Nightshower ground his teeth. He’d show Firesong soon enough.

Away from Nightshower’s burning gaze, Firesong and Silverfox rehearsed together. When Silverfox saw Lyam, he waved him over.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering about my character motivation in this part.” Silverfox pointed at his script. “Cassava tells the Wicked Witch that she’s lighter to pull up than Prince Amiedi, who’s been visiting me in secret, and I don’t understand why Cassava would do that. Does he secretly want to get caught? Has a life in the tower led him to crave recklessness?”

“He’s, you know, naive,” Lyam said with a dismissive wave of his clawed hand. “He’s spent his whole life in the tower. And the Wicked Witch is the only parental figure he’s known. He doesn’t know not to trust her.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“All right, let me see you and Firesong run through your reunion scene at the end!”

“Prince Amiedi, you came for me!” Silverfox proclaimed.

“I am Prince Amiedi,” Firesong enunciated. “I would fight a thousand armies and walk a thousand furloughs to spend a thousandth of a candlemark gazing upon your beauty.”

“Wait, that’s not your line, Firesong,” Lyam said, frowning.

“I know,” Firesong said. “The line in the script was terrible. So I changed it.”

“I’m the playwright, not you,” Lyam insisted.

“Then write better,” Firesong said heatedly.

“Say the lines I give you, or I’ll recast you as the rug in Cassava’s tower!” Lyam threatened.

Silverfox stepped between them, interrupting the argument. “Let’s all cool our heads,” Silverfox said pleasantly. “Firesong will read his lines, but Lyam, I really do question if ‘I am Prince Amiedi, and I smell bad and can’t count to six and also have a chronic heart condition that means I die now.’ is the best work you can produce. It really seems at odds tonally with the rest of the script and doesn’t seem to match the flow of the story.”

“What.”

“Would you at least consider improving it?”

“No, I mean, that’s not the line I wrote.”

“It’s in the script.”

Fumbling with his own script, Lyam flipped through it and then swore under his breath. “This isn’t, I didn’t- Someone changed the scripts! They must have swapped out this page for one of their own with different lines.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Blue asked, drawing near.

“Well, I know someone who doesn’t like me,” Firesong said, looking pointedly at Awotwi, who was close by on the stage.

“I don’t read Kaled’a’in, asshole,” Awotwi retorted.

Firesong frowned. “Then what have you been using for your script?”

Awotwi held up the script in her hand. “Alona transliterated it phonetically into Khimbatan.” Firesong saw that the handwritten lines were in an alphabet he didn’t know.

“Was yours tampered with?” Lyam asked urgently.

Awotwi flipped to near the end of her script. “No, this has a different line for Prince Amiedi at that point.”

Lyam grasped Awotwi’s hands. “You have the original! Come with me. I need to find out exactly what was changed and restore it to its former glory.”

“If I might, I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Herald Blue said, hurrying after them.

Backstage and off to the side was a small office Lyam had claimed for his own. It was here that he went, for within were blank pages, and most importantly of all, Lyam’s printing press. Blue examined it with great interest. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, but it was a delight to examine. The contraption opened like the jaws of a great trap, the top holding letter blocks and the bottom holding paper. There was a crank, an ink tray, and lots of gears.

“This is amazing,” Blue said. Lyam, who was busy tearing through Awotwi’s script with Awotwi’s help and assembling letter blocks, only grunted.

“It’s just a printing press,” Awotwi said nonchalantly, interrupting her reading. “Don’t you have those where you’re from?”

“No, most definitely not,” Blue said. “Excuse me, Lyam?”

“Uh huh?” Lyam answered, not looking up.

“Do you keep the copies of the scripts here at night?”

“Uh huh.”

“Where?”

“Drawer of my office desk. Left hand side. Bottom one.”

Blue examined it. There did not appear to be a lock on it. “Do you keep your office locked at night?”

“Doesn’t have a lock.”

“Does the theatre have a lock?”

“Theatre,” Lyam declared, finally straightening himself up and looking at her, “should be accessible to the public.”

“Do you have any enemies?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“So anyone could have altered the scripts, but we have no suspects at this time,” Blue concluded.

“The important thing is that we get it fixed.”

Lyam returned to examination of the scripts with Awotwi’s assistance, as he wasn’t as proficient in the Khimbatan script as Alona. To his relief, only the one page turned out to have been changed. After that, it did not take long to get new pages printed. Right as he was finishing, the _hertasi_ Alona appeared and began installing a lock on Lyam’s office, so that the horrendous crime could not be repeated.

After Lyam had distributed the correct script page to all the actors, he darted over to where Nyara was rehearsing alone. “Hello, Lyam,” she said pleasantly, but there was a note of melancholy in her voice.

“Where’s Skif?” he asked.

“Oh, um,” Nyara said. “Skif’s in bed. He hurt himself.”

“Oh no! What happened?”

“He threw out his back rid-“ Here she broke off from saying the word “riding” with a sudden blush.

“I thought Companions showed the utmost care with their Heralds?” Lyam asked.

“Cymry is staying with him,” Nyara said. “I wanted to stay by his side, as well, but he insisted I go to the rehearsal.”

“Well, I wish him well,” Lyam said. Then when he was out of earshot, he muttered, “guess I’m stuck with the damn horse that won’t read his lines.”

Silverfox had overheard the conversation and spoke to Nyara. “I believe my services might be of some use here. My massages can help with healing.”

“Anything to help my pookie bear recover,” Nyara said gratefully.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Silverfox told Firesong. With a kiss on the cheek of his mask, he cut his rehearsal short to attend to Skif. Firesong wandered near the back of the stage when he heard voices coming from the wings. It was Nightshower and Clydesdale talking together.

“So Silverfox is a, what did you call, _kestra_ …”

“ _Kestra’chern_ ,” Nightshower said.

“And that’s like a-”

“Yes, but more than that. Although also that.”

“Good looking man,” Clydesdale remarked. “Can see why Firesong picked him.”

“Ah, but the question is, will Silverfox continue to pick Firesong?”

“What?” That was Clydesdale. Firesong, for his part, made a choking sound that he quickly tried to stifle.

“I’m one of Silverfox’s clients,” Nightshower said. “Regularly. And let’s just say Silverfox’s partner has been leaving him wanting. Silverfox is an artisan like me; he knows quality when he sees it. And he deserves only the best.”

“And that’s not Firesong?”

“Oh, maybe once,” Nightshower said airily, “but things have changed. He’s not much of a mage these days, with magic all dispersed like it is. And do you know why he wears those masks that he does?”

“They’re stylish?”

“Well, they are, but he wears them because, well, let’s say he’s not as pretty as he used to be. Besides, Silverfox says I’m better in bed than Firesong is. I think he just hasn’t dropped Firesong yet out of pity.”

Not willing to hear anymore, Firesong turned and fled across the stage, glad that his mask hid the emotions on his face. Every insecurity he’d been battling – every insecurity Silverfox had sworn to him was baseless – came roaring to the surface. There wasn’t even a point confronting Silverfox; the _kestra’chern_ had made it clear that his sessions were undertaken in the strictest confidence. More insecurities joined the mental chorus of _you’re not pretty enough you’re not powerful enough_. They whispered, _you take people for granted you complain too much you’re a terrible partner look at what happened with An’desha_.

Behind Firesong, in the wings, Nightshower glanced over in the direction that Firesong had fled and smirked. Silverfox would soon be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! It was [REDACTED] in the theatre office with the printing press! How could they??


	8. Haighlei Legal Precedents

On the third day of rehearsals, Lyam wanted to do a full run-through of the play. There weren’t any costumes or set pieces ready yet, and most of the cast hadn’t memorized their lines, so actors stood on the bare stage with scripts in hand, reading their lines. During a portion of the play where the Wicked Witch (whose name was Mage Brassica) wasn’t on stage, Awotwi slipped backstage to put her plan into action.

She’d spent the previous evening contemplating what she wanted to do and had spent every waking moment since gathering magical energy. It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. The power was there, it was just dispersed, like trying to fill a bucket in a light drizzle. Still, Awotwi was good at what she did, and given enough time, even a trickle will fill a bucket. Awotwi had the power now; all she had to do was apply it.

As it happened, what she needed was a bucket. Awotwi closed her eyes, spread her arms wide with her palms up, and drew upon the power she had gathered. She wanted a bucket, a wooden bucket. She imagined the components that made up wood: cellulose and lignin. She _reached_ with her mind for the raw materials that were nearby, brought them together and shaped them into the desired form.

She opened her eyes and smiled when a bucket stood before her. Now, her plan called for more than just a bucket. Closing her eyes again, she thought of white sand and rubber and water. She imagined them mixing together until they formed a smooth consistency. When she opened her eyes for the second time, the bucket now contained white paint.

She had wracked her brains for much of the previous evening trying to come up with a suitable plan for revenge. Ideas had eluded her until she decided to get some fresh air to clear her head. To that end, she had gone up to the very top of the _ekele_ she was using, which had been converted into a gryphon landing area. It was there that the perfect plan for revenge came to her.

With her bucket of white paint, she would paint the most popular gryphon landing pads in k’Leshya Vale. She’d hide the paint in the wings of the theatre and retrieve it in the early hours of the morning before anyone else was awake. She’d apply the paint and then watch as the gryphons got wet paint all over their talons. No doubt that would make them want to pack up and go back to White Gryphon. It was the perfect revenge.

“Hello, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” a voice said, and Awotwi whirled around to find a _tervardi_ facing her.

“And you are?” Awotwi asked. As the words tumbled out of her mouth, her feelings changed from one of being annoyed at being interrupted to one of awe. Awotwi had never seen a _tervardi_ who was so beautiful before. She was a riot of purple and red and blue, with dashes of yellow and orange to provide contrast. The rich and powerful of the Haighlei Empire were fond of hiring _tervardi_ (especially the males) to perform in their courts, but whoever had painted this _tervardi’s_ feathers deserved accolades. She was a work of art.

“I’m Brightwings.”

“Dr. Awotwi.”

Brightwings cocked her head to the side. “You seem awfully young to have a doctorate.”

“Well, I’m awfully smart,” Awotwi shot back, but with a grin.

“What’s your doctorate in?” Brightwings asked.

“Law. Specifically contract law.”

“Oh? What’s your thoughts on Akinyi vs. Haregewoin?”

Awotwi swallowed hard. Although not because she wasn’t familiar with the case in question; her eldest sister had written her dissertation on Akinyi vs. Haregewoin. Awotwi pushed her tongue into the cheek of her mouth and then teased, “Just because bindings can be fun doesn’t mean a contract is legally binding.”

“What about Chipo vs. Dikeledi? What do you think about that one?”

“That if you want to pick my brain about the most salacious cases, you really should buy me dinner first?”

“Very well. Have you been to Ayshen’s Delicacies?”

“I have not.”

“Tragically, Ayshen went north to k’Vala, but his cousin – who’s nearly as good, by my reckoning – still runs it.”

“What do they serve?”

“Oysters. Asparagus. Pomegranates.” As Brightwings spoke the words she slowly and gently trailed a taloned finger across Awotwi’s cheek. Awotwi closed her eyes in pleasure and inhaled the perfume that Brightwings was wearing.

“Hibiscus,” Awotwi breathed.

“Mmm, correct.”

“I do enjoy eating oysters,” Awotwi said, opening her eyes.

“As do I,” Brightwings agreed.

“Even with your beak?”

“Oh, the beak of the _tervardi_ can be surprisingly…gentle. And the tongue of a _tervardi_ stretch more than you might think.”

“So you have no difficulty eating…oysters?”

“None whatsoever.”

“That’s certainly good to know. Who does your feathers, if I might be so bold as to ask?”

“The human Silverfox. He’s worth every copper.”

“I agree. You are breathtakingly beautiful.”

“Thank you. You aren’t half bad yourself.”

“The fabled _tervardi_ tongue at work, I see. Not that I’m complaining.”

Brightwings chuckled, a musical tinkling sort of laugh. “Why should the menfolk get all the pretty colors, am I right?”

“You are. Hmm, are you a lawyer?”

“I am not. I build things.”

“I only ask because you seem really knowledgeable about contract law.”

“Oh, erotic court cases are a hobby of mine. Now, I really should get back to set design. How about dinner tomorrow before rehearsal?”

“I’d love to.”

Awotwi practically floated away and only came back to the present when she remembered her plans for revenge. The _tervardi_ couldn’t actually fly, so there was no worry about Brightwings getting paint on herself. Awotwi bent down to retrieve her bucket of white paint.

It was gone.

Awotwi looked around wildly. After a moment, she spotted it. One of the hertasi working on set design was using it to paint the inside of the set piece that was for Prince Cassava’s tower. She cursed her luck. There was no way for her to retrieve the bucket now, and she was out of magical energy. Plus, as this failure showed, with set design going on, any plan involving paint was likely doomed to fail.

\---

After rehearsals were over for the evening, Firesong and Silverfox returned to their _ekele_ for the rest of the night. Everything seemed to be going all right when Silverfox handcuffed Firesong to the headboard with a pair of handcuffs lined with tree hare fur to prevent chafing, but as Silverfox straddled his lover and began running the tickle whip over his chest, he could tell something was wrong. There was a distant look in Firesong’s eyes, like his thoughts were elsewhere. Silverfox stopped teasing him with the tickle whip.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he asked.

“Nothing, Lord Emperor,” Firesong replied, not dropping character. Silverfox resisted the urge to sigh. He’d heard “nothing” countless times in his work as a _kestra’chern_. There was always something, and it bothered him that Firesong was closing himself off.

“Would you like to stop?”

Firesong shook his head. “You enjoy this.”

“I enjoy this,” Silverfox said pointedly, “when my lover enjoys this. Please talk to me.”

“Sorry,” Firesong muttered.

“Are you feeling insecure about the scarring on your face?”

Firesong stared at Silverfox. Then he nodded.

Silverfox leaned forward, so that he was laying on Firesong’s chest. He buried his face in Firesong’s shoulder. “Do you remember what I told you?” he asked.

“My body is what it is,” Firesong repeated dutifully. “I don’t have to love every aspect of it, but I should accept it as a thing that exists. It does not reflect my worth. It does not define me.”

Silverfox sat back up. “Why don’t I untie you, you roll over, and I give you a back massage?”

“If that is what Lord Emperor wishes,” Firesong replied.

“It is,” Silverfox said. He took the key, which dangled from a chain around his neck, and undid Firesong’s handcuffs. (There were also bolt cutters on the bedside table, as a safety precaution.) Then he shifted to the side so that Firesong could roll over on his stomach. Then Silverfox straddled again and began working the muscles of Firesong’s back.

Silverfox had heard that it was nearly impossible to lie mind-to-mind. He wasn’t a Mindspeaker, so he didn’t know. What he did know was that back muscles didn’t lie. Firesong was carrying an incredible amount of tension. Silverfox worked the muscles of Firesong’s left shoulder, forcing them into relaxation, and reminded himself that he needed to be patient. Firesong had been through an incredible experience, and it was going to take him time to accept that. If Silverfox badgered him into talking before he was ready, Firesong would only withdraw further and pull away. Beneath him, Firesong gave a low moan, and Silverfox smiled in satisfaction. At least the tension in Firesong’s back was something he could fix.


	9. Blood on the Stage

Ayshen’s Delicacies was located entirely underground, but the tunnels and rooms had been carved tall and wide enough that even a gryphon wouldn’t feel claustrophobic. And Ayshen’s Delicacies was prepared to serve gryphons, just as it was prepared to serve patrons of all the species that might frequent the restaurant. Some of the rooms of the dining area were huge, with pies of cushions for gryphons to lounge on while they ate. Other rooms had no chairs and trough in place of a table to fit the comfort of _dyheli_ diners. Nor were all of the rooms all one way or the other. As the server led Awotwi and Brightwings through the complex, Awotwi saw that the troughs were detachable and that there were chairs that could be raised or lowered. One eating room contained gryphons, _dyheli_ , and _hertasi_ sharing a meal together, each with their portion of the room set to their comfort.

“Is White Gryphon like this?” Awotwi asked after they’d sat down. “I’ve never been.”

“Uh huh,” Brightwings said. “Ayshen’s grandma runs her own Delicacies there; it’s why Ayshen wanted to come north. Get his own start, you know. They’ve got different menus, too, in case you’re in the mood for raw beef or salad with a side of salad instead.”

“I think I’ll stick with the oysters.”

“So tell me,” Brightwings asked after they’d placed their orders, “how’d you avoid becoming a priestess?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Silverfox said that Firesong said that you were a mage.”

“Firesong’s the overdressed one?”

“That’s him.”

“He would.”

“So what’s the story? I thought all the mages outside of White Gryphon had to go into the priesthood?”

“How does Ayshen’s even have oysters?” Awotwi asked instead of answering. “There isn’t an ocean anywhere near here.”

“A freshwater breeding colony was brought over and lives in one of the pools. But you’re dodging.”

“Fine,” Awotwi said. “I didn’t want to be a priestess. So my family, look, I don’t know what they did to keep the priests from noticing me, but they did. But that’s why I had to leave.”

“Where’d you learn your magic, then?” Brightwings asked.

“What?”

“Look, Mage Storms mucking everything up or not, if your magic weren’t under control, Firesong would be insisting you took lessons from him. He might be overdressed, but he’s hardly irresponsible. So if you didn’t learn magic in the priesthood, where did you learn it?”

“Books,” Awotwi squeaked. Brightwings was as sharp as she was beautiful.

“Which ones?”

“Skandranon’s Principles,” Awotwi said, naming the first magic book that came to mind.

“Where’d you get a copy of Skandranon’s Principles at?” Brightwings asked.

“My parents provided it,” Awotwi lied. “I don’t know where they got it, just that they did.”

Brightwings sat back in her chair. “Very well,” she said. Awotwi hoped that she wasn’t sweating too profusely. “So, rogue mage, huh?”

“I guess so,” Awotwi said. “Not that I can do much magic at the moment.”

The food arrived then, a generous tray of raw oysters. Brightwings picked one up with her thumb and forefinger, held it up to her beak-like mouth, and inhaled the scent. “Delicious.” She parted her beak and extended her tongue. Awotwi found herself breathing shallowly. Brightwings’ tongue was as long as she promised. Her tongue lapped the inside of the oyster’s shell, stroking the meat there, tasting it. It was only after Brightwings had run her tongue over all of the meat within the shell that she scooped the inside of the oyster into her mouth and swallowed.

“Aren’t you going to take one, too?” Brightwings asked after she had finished it. Awotwi nodded and picked one up. She had just taken the contents into her mouth when Brightwings nonchalantly commented, “It’s a shame they don’t serve pike here.” Then Brightwings had to quickly move around the table and pound Awotwi on the back as Awotwi nearly choked on her first oyster.

After the meal was complete, they walked together to Tarrn Hall Theatre. They were a bit early, so Brightwings suggested that she give Awotwi a tour of the sets she had been working on. The first piece that Brightwings showed Awotwi was Prince Cassava’s tower. The bottom of the window to Prince Cassava’s tower was about seven feet off the ground. When Brightwings walked Awotwi around to the back of the tower, Awotwi saw that the backside of the tower was open, and there was a small, winding staircase that led up into the room.

“When Silverfox leans out the window, Firesong’ll be able to reach his hair.”

“Firesong’s not going to actually climb it, is he?”

Awotwi chuckled. “Yeah, that would hurt. No, there’s a harness that Firesong will wear. As Prince Amiedi “climbs” Prince Cassava’s hair, the harness will lift Firesong up via some wires that attach to it. Now, let me show you the wall around your character’s garden.”

As they walked across the stage, they passed several pots containing sugarcane. “Alona loaned us her sugarcane garden,” Brightwings explained. “We’re using them for some of the scen- Damn it, Firesong, stop chewing the scenery!”

Amid the sugarcane was the masked mage in question. He’d cut the tip off one of the sugarcane plants and was chewing on the end of it; the mask he wore had an opening that allowed him to eat without taking it off.

“You shouldn’t make the scenery edible if you don’t want people eating it,” he huffed as Brightwings shooed him back in front of the curtains, where rehearsals would soon be starting.

“Got caught eating the sugarcane did you?” they heard Silverfox chuckle through the curtains.

“Anyway,” Brightwings said, “here’s the wall. We had to make some modifications to it so that Lores can climb over it.”

The wall stood ten feet tall and was made from clay bricks. As Awotwi examined it, she saw that there were irregularities in the wall. Some of the bricks stuck out. However, the parts that stuck out had all been painted black.

“Footholds,” Brightwings said. “In theatre, anything painted black is effectively invisible to the audience, since it’ll be against the black backdrop. Whatever other flaws Lores might have, he _can_ go over the wall. And fast, too.”

“What are those?” Awotwi asked, pointing at some boards attached by rope.

“They’re for Lores’ lines, since he won’t read them.”

“How do the set pieces move?” Awotwi asked.

“Look,” Brightwing said. She pointed, and Awotwi saw that the wall had wheels discretely covered. “All of the pieces roll.”

“Can I try out the harness that lifts Firesong up? I want to fly!”

Brightwings laughed. “Sure. It’s over this way.”

\---

Above the stage and backstage of the theatre ran a grid of catwalks. The other end of the lines that attached to the hardness attached to a sturdy pole that could be moved along the railings of the catwalks. In this manner, the harness could be used in various parts of the stage or moved backstage so that it was out of the way. At the moment, Nightshower and Clydesdale were up on the catwalk, deep in conversation with each other.

“Do you know when Silverfox is going to let Firesong know they’re done?” Clydesdale asked.

“After the run of the play finishes its run,” Nightshower told him.

Clydesdale nodded. “I’ll be there to comfort him then. Think I should start wooing him now? That way, when Silverfox gives him the boot, he’ll know there’s someone there who will love him properly.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Nightshower said. “I’m not going to lie; I’m not Firesong’s biggest fan, but that’s just ‘cause he’s my romantic rival, you know? I want you to know that I wish you two nothing but the best.”

“Ah, thanks. That means a lot to me.”

“You should probably apologize to Alona, though.”

“Who?”

“The _hertasi_ you insulted your first day here.”

“The what?”

“The little lizard who does Firesong’s hair. She was really upset by how you treated her.”

“Yeah,” Clydesdale said, scratching the back of his head. “I’ll do that. Honestly, if I’d known she was a she, I would have never accused her of sleeping with Firesong. That would be ridiculous.”

“Can you satisfy my curiosity about something?”

“Uh, sure, what?”

“What’s with the hammer on your back? Are you a fighter or something?”

“Nah, but sometimes Valdemaran Bards get weapons training, so I do know how to use it. Want to see a demonstration?”

\---

Down below, Brightwings led Awotwi over to the harness. She had just been about to strap Awotwi in when there came a creaking from above.

“Look out!” Awotwi shouted, and Brightwings found herself shoved out the way. She flared her wing-like arms to catch her balance just in time to see a hunk of metal plunge down from above and stab through Awotwi’s chest. Awotwi screamed. Brightwings’ mind was such a blur that she at first couldn’t process what had happened. Then she realized that the metal rod that had impaled Awotwi was the pole that the wires of the harness were attached to.

“Awotwi?” Brightwings whispered.

To Brightwings’ delight, Awotwi stirred.

To Brightwings’ confusion, Awotwi reached for the pole with both hands and wretched it out of her chest. She tossed it to the side and then shouted, “Watch where you’re dropping things!” to the darkness above.

Brightwings rushed to Awotwi’s side and wrapped her arms around her. “You’re okay? Are you okay? How are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” Awotwi said, giving Brightwings a weak smile. But she made no move to extract herself from Brightwings’ arms.

“What happened?” Silverfox asked as he and Firesong trotted over.

“Oh my gods! Is she okay?” Clydesdale asked as he arrived with Nightshower.

Soon the entire cast was gathered around Awotwi until Brightwings shouted at them to give Awotwi some room, as a pole had just impaled her. Someone called for a Healer to be sent for.

“How are you fine?” Brightwings whispered, tears in her eyes, as she hugged Awotwi tighter.

It turned out that the Junior Healer – a young human woman named Springstream – had the role of First Tree from Stage Left, so it took her only seconds to arrive after she’d been sent for. She examined Awotwi’s wound.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “your lung’s been pierced.”

“Well, you can close the hole, can’t you?” Awotwi demanded.

“I…yes, but your lung…”

“Yes,” Awotwi said patiently, “You need to take the damaged lung out.”

“But…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Awotwi said. Everyone winced as Awotwi brought her hands to her chest, at which point half the Healer’s job was done for her. Alona, wrinkling her nose, removed the offending organ from the stage.

“You…” Springstream said, not very eloquently.

Awotwi rolled her eyes. “I’ll just grow a new one, won’t I?”

“But-”

“You are a Healer, right?”

“Yes, but-”

“So burn away any infection and seal the wound, would you? Before the shock wears off, if you don’t mind?”

The Healer’s mouth dangled open a good inch by this point, but she laid her hands over Awotwi’s chest and had soon healed the wound. 

“Oh, that hurt like a dickens,” Awotwi muttered. There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone stared at her. It was Firesong who finally spoke.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh, fine,” Awotwi griped. She took a deep breath. “I’m a Change-child.”

“Uh…would you like some tea?” Silverfox asked.

“Actually, some tea would be lovely,” Awotwi said. A cup was fetched for her, and she sipped it. She had to go gingerly, on account of the fact that Brightwings had still not let go over her, through all that had happened.

“What I want to know,” Herald Blue said, “is how this happened?”

Brightwings shook her head. “The pole holding up the harness broke. I don’t know what happened, but she pushed me out of the way and saved my life.”

Awotwi handed her empty cup to Alona and reached up to put her hand over Brightwings’. “I figured I would be able to heal.”

“That doesn’t make you any less of my hero,” Brightwings whispered.

Lyam called rehearsals a wash for the night, and Brightwings offered to take Awotwi to her home and stay with her for the night. Soon, only Lyam, Herald Blue, and Lores were left in the theatre. Blue retrieved the pole and examined the break.

“What is it?” Lyam asked.

“The pole didn’t break on its own,” Blue said. “It was smashed. This was another act of sabotage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sea cucumbers can, in fact, regrow internal organs.


	10. A Hertasi’s Revenge

Awotwi awoke the next morning to find Brightwings slumped across her chest, her hand clutching Awotwi’s. Memories from the previous evening were a bit hazy, and Awotwi didn’t remember Brightwings putting her to bed, although she remembered Brightwings offering to take her home. Brightwings was seated on a chair, but she had been unable to stay up the entire night. Awotwi smiled, and Brightwings stirred.

“How are you feeling?” Brightwings asked when she saw that Awotwi was awake.

“Like I got impaled by a pole,” Awotwi said with a weak chuckle.

“I’ll make you breakfast.”

This turned out to be unnecessary, as Lyam appeared just then with breakfast already made. He set the tray on Awotwi’s lap and then hovered nervously at the side of Awotwi’s bed. She’d seen that behavior often enough as a priestess. She thought of it as the I-want-to-ask-a-question-but-don’t-want-to-be-an-ass dance. She rolled her eyes.

“You want to know if I’m dropping out due to my injury?” Awotwi guessed.

“Yes,” Lyam squeaked.

“I’ll be there tonight,” Awotwi promised.

“You sure?” Brightwings asked.

“Yes,” Awotwi said. “I shouldn’t be running any marathons, but I’ll be fine to do the play.” She saw the question Brightwings was about to ask. “Yes, even my big song and dance number. There are perks to being a Change-child.”

“Excellent,” Lyam said. “Oh, you wouldn’t know how difficult it would have been to recast you at this point in production. Tonight should be an easy night, at least. We’ll be having the actors try on their costumes to see if there are any adjustments that need to be made.”

Lyam left, and there was a knock on the door. Awotwi called for them to enter, and three people entered. There was Nyara (holding a basket), Springstream, and an older woman who introduced herself as Silverrain, the senior Healer.

“How are you feeling, Change-sister!” Nyara called when they entered.

“Better than yesterday,” Awotwi said, giving Nyara a bemused glance.

“That’s good,” Nyara said. “I baked you muffins.”

“I am so, so sorry,” Springstream said, looking at her feet.

“Springstream still has much to learn,” Silverrain said. “Now, are you up for answering a few questions?”

“What sort of questions?” Awotwi asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Dr. Awotwi, you’re a Change-child, like Nyara here. You are going to have different medical needs than say, myself, just as Brightwings here has different medical needs than a _hertasi_ would. So to start, I need more information about your Change nature.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Awotwi said. Then she sighed. “Oh, fine. I merged with a sea cucumber. It’s how I got here.”

“And as a result, you can regrow your internal organs?” Silverrain held a clipboard which she scribbled on periodically.

“Uh huh.”

“Anything else?”

Awotwi took one of the muffins that Nyara had baked and took a bite of it. Not bad. It had different flavorings than she was used to, but she rather liked it. Awotwi swallowed, took a sip of water, and then answered the question.

“I can also breathe out of my anus.”

“Ah,” Silverrain said and scribbled on her clipboard.

After a few more questions, the Healers left. Nyara made small talk – she was excited to have another Change-child in the community – and then made her farewells, saying that she needed to go check on Skif, who was still recovering himself. Finally, Brightwings had to leave for work, but only after Awotwi insisted she would be fine on her own.

A new plan for revenge was forming in her mind. It wouldn’t fully come to fruition until after the play (it would be too cruel to disappoint Lyam at this point), and she was going to have to make sure that Brightwings and Nyara (and she supposed Silverrain and Lyam) were shielded from her actions, but it was going to be a glorious plan for revenge. Lyam’s remarks about costumes had given her the idea.

The first step of Awotwi’s third plan for glorious revenge went thusly: collect several tree hares and put them in cages. To this end, Awotwi needed cages and a way to obtain tree hares. That meant magic. The toll the Healing had taken on Awotwi meant that she was a bit shaky when she went to pool the dispersed magical energies, but she didn’t need much magic to accomplish both tasks.

The second step of Awotwi’s third plan for glorious revenge went thusly: make costumes for the captured tree hares. As far as magic went, Awotwi was tapped out at this point, so she snuck into the empty (for it was still early) Tarrn Hall Theatre and appropriated some of the raw fabric, as well as a basket of sewing supplies. Returning to her _ekele_ , Awotwi set to work. For one tree hare, she made a royal outfit, with red robes that billowed around the tree hare’s bushy tail. For another tree hare, she made a ballet costume. (Ballet had been permitted in the Haighlei Empire as of the last Eclipse Ceremony, and it was all the rage.) For the third tree hare, she made a tiny Herald costume, basing it on the one Blue wore. For the final tree hare, Awotwi made a Valdemaran Bard’s costume, like the one that Clydesdale wore.

The third (and final) step of Awotwi’s third plan for glorious revenge went thusly: now that her tree hare minions were properly dressed, she would unleash them upon those that she wished to hurt. They would steal their food, mislay their keys, and bite their toes as they slept. Awotwi opened the doors of the four tree hare cages.

“Go forth, my minions!” Awotwi commanded them. “Wreak havoc! But, uh, don’t mess up Lyam’s play; he’s really looking forward to it, and besides, I’ve got a big song and dance number. And don’t mess with Brightwings; she’s really pretty. And Nyara and I are friends now. And you should probably leave Silverrain alone, too; I’ve got a follow up appointment with her. But definitely steal one half of all of Firesong’s sock pairs. I WILL force him to wear mismatched socks.”

The four tree hares looked at Awotwi when she first began speaking, but when she finished her instruction, she blinked as she realized that the tree hares had darted away through the open window (still wearing their costumes) halfway through her instructions.

“Darn it!” Awotwi lamented. “How are they going to follow my orders if they won’t stick around to hear my orders.” She glared at the sewing basket, as if it were the basket’s fault, rather than hers for forgetting to cast the controlling spell on the tree hares. “Useless minions,” she griped. She would have to think of a new plan for revenge. First, however, she needed to return the sewing basket before anyone noticed it was missing. It was nearly time for costume fitting.

\---

When Firesong and Silverfox arrived at Tarrn Hall Theatre, they found Clydesdale standing on stage holding a bouquet of flowers. The flowers were predominantly black, but the insides of each flower had a flash of red to it, making each flower look like it had a miniature campfire. Clydesdale thrust the flowers at Firesong when they came close. Firesong did not take them.

Firesong frowned at the flowers. “Where did you get these?”

“They’re for you,” Clydesdale said.

“I’m afraid I can’t accept them.”

“They’re firesongs,” Clydesdale said. “That’s what they’re called in the part of Valdemar that I’m from. So when I saw them, I thought of you and just had to pick them.”

“Yes, but where did you see them?” Firesong asked right as another voice exclaimed, “My fire lilies!”

“Hello, Alona,” Silverfox said pleasantly.

“Alona?” Clydesdale asked.

“Yes, Thief!” Alona snarled. “YOU are the one who raided my fire lily flower bed!”

“I need to apologize to you,” Clydesdale said.

“You wouldn’t have to apologize if you hadn’t stolen my flowers!”

“No, I mean, I need to apologize for being rude to you my first day here.”

“Oh, so you have no remorse for your second crime, Flower Thief?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!”

“I want to go see Awotwi’s costume,” Silverfox said, pulling Firesong away from the ruckus. He led him over to her, and Firesong gave a whistle of appreciation. It seemed that those in costume design team also thought Awotwi looked good in gold, for costume was done in that and a brilliant red. She positively sparkled.

“Thanks,” Awotwi said, feeling a ping of guilt at her intention to steal half of all of Firesong’s socks. Maybe she’d leave him a few matching pairs, so he’d only suffer fashion failure on some days.

“I like the hat,” Silverfox said.

“Me, too,” Awotwi said.

At that point, Firesong and Silverfox were called to try on their own outfits, which, Firesong was pleased to see, sparkled just as much as Awotwi’s did. Firesong’s was a white robe with a brilliant red sash that tied it together. Silverfox had a similar ensemble, but his outfit was black with a white sash. They were just finishing up when they heard a new argument starting up between Alona and Clydesdale.

“This is kind of uncomfortable.” That was Clydesdale.

“It’s perfect.” That was Alona.

“It’s scratchy.”

“No alterations will be needed.”

“I can’t wear this.”

“You can and you will, Rude Flower Thief.”

Firesong and Silverfox quickly changed back to their usual wear and strolled over to where Clydesdale and Alona were. Silverfox bit his lip to stop from laughing. Firesong was glad his mask hid his grin, for Clydesdale’s costume was a masterpiece. There was a rough green one piece that stretched from his groin to his shoulders. Around this was a belt, and across his shoulders was what looked like a wooden bar. His arms were outstretched and tied to the bar at the wrists. Encircling him, attached at the belt and the bar, were the thorny vines of the thorn bush. Firesong lightly touched one of the thorns. They were decently sharp. While they wouldn’t break skin, they would be unpleasant if bumped against. He eyed the costume critically. Some of the thorns pointed inward and came very close to Clydesdale’s exposed flesh. He would have to move very carefully in the costume. A tree hare leapt down from the catwalk onto one of the vines. For some reason, it was dressed like a Haighlei king.

“I’m really, really sorry,” Clydesdale said.

“No,” Alona answered smugly, “but you will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the illustration for this chapter, I wasn't actually going for himbo white Jesus, but that's apparently what I ended up with. Lol.


	11. In Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There doesn't yet appear to be a Bardcore version of Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes, so I invite you to enjoy the Bardcore version of Somebody That I Used to Know by Hildegard von Blingin': https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ch1aVmjvYTI

Firesong’s day did not begin on a good note. He’d been up late the previous night, using magic to repair the pole that anchored the harness he would use during the play. His examination of the severing revealed that it had not been broken with magic, and Herald Blue had nodded gravely at his findings. On one hand, it was a relief to know that there wasn’t a rogue mage running around. On the other hand, it was disconcerting to know that there was someone in the community who bore such malice against either Lyam or Brightwings. (The latter had insisted that it was she who would have been hit by the pole had Awotwi not heroically pushed her out of the way.)

The night had been plagued with nightmares he couldn’t quite remember but left him with a tightness in his chest every time he looked at Silverfox. Then, as Alona brushed through his hair, he was struck by the unshakeable but undefinable sensation that he had forgotten something important. The feeling had persisted throughout the day, only for he and Silverfox to arrive at Tarrn Hall Theatre in the evening to find Lyam in tears, surrounded by the cast and crew.

“Ruin!” he wailed. “Everything is ruined.”

“What’s wrong?” Silverfox asked.

“The costumes!”

“What about the costumes?”

It took Lyam swallowing several sobs and hiccups before he could speak coherently enough to explain. “I wanted to dress Firesong in white as a homage to his Heraldic ancestry, but someone – whatever monster changed the scripts and nearly killed Awotwi – ruined it!”

The costumes were in a pile in a crate behind Lyam. Firesong stepped around him and rustled around until he found the one that was his. He pulled it out. The belt was still red, but the white robes were now pink.

“Ah,” Firesong said, several pieces falling into place.

“Hm?” Silverfox asked, looking up from where he was trying to console the despairing director.

“It, um, looks like the red belt got put in with the whites,” Firesong said.

“I washed them last night after alterations were made,” Alona said, cringing. “I swear I didn’t notice that they hadn’t been separated right!”

“You know, I could totally make this work,” Firesong said.

“But it won’t be Heraldic whites!” Lyam protested.

“But Prince Amiedi isn’t actually a Herald,” Firesong pointed out.

“But my artistic vision!”

“Oh, but just look,” Firesong insisted. He slipped the robes over his clothes. He turned to Alona. “Got a black belt?”

“One moment,” Alona said. Darting backstage, she returned with the belt, and Firesong tied the robes around himself. He spun around slowly in front of Lyam. “See? I’m stunning.”

Lyam’s sobs finally quieted. “You do look good. The red belt would have clashed, but black makes it work.”

Silverfox examined his own costume. “You know, black robes and a pink belt would work, too. That puts Prince Amiedi and Prince Cassava in a swapped color palette with each other.”

While the rest of the cast tried on the altered costumes, Herald Blue slipped over to where Nyara and Herald Skif were. Blue was relieved to see Skif recovered enough to come to the rehearsal to support his lady. She’d spoken to the Silver Gryphons about the smashed pole, and they had deputized her to handle the case. While she was proud of the trust they showed her, she was anxious not to fail that trust.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Blue said.

“Thanks. Nyara caught me up with everything that’s been happening.”

Blue nodded. “Something foul is afoot.”

“You think a _tervardi_ is responsible?”

“I haven’t ruled out any suspects.”

“We should see if we can,” Nyara said. “What do the crimes have in common?”

“The first targeted Firesong. The second targeted Brightwings, but it was Awotwi who got hurt. The third targeted Firesong again.”

“Or Lyam,” Skif pointed out. “Really, all of them could be seen as crimes against Lyam, since this project is his baby.”

“So who has a motive?” Nyara asked.

“Are we sure Lyam doesn’t have any enemies?” Blue asked.

“Let’s ask him,” Skif said. He called Lyam over. “As the resident Heralds, we’re doing everything we can to determine what’s going on. Do you really not have any enemies?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Lyam said. “Unless you’re the culprit. You were deprived a role in the play and could be seeking to destroy it as a result.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nyara said. “Skif’s been bedridden all week and couldn’t have been responsible.”

“As a Herald, Skif should be above suspicion,” Blue said.

“And anyway, I only have a weak Mindspeaking Gift and what Alberich thinks might be a touch of Foresight.”

“So?” Lyam countered. “All of the crimes could have been accomplished by mundane means. If you don’t mind, I’d like to put you under a truth spell and confirm your innocence.”

Skif and Blue looked at each other. “We have nothing to hide,” Skif said at last, “so we will assent.”

“I think you are wrong to accuse my duckling of such horrid actions, but I, too, will agree to the truth spell.”

“Okay, Skif first,” Lyam said. He cast the spell on Skif. “Were you the one who changed the script, broke the harness pole, or dyed the whites pink?”

“No.”

“What don’t you want me to know?”

“I used to be a burglar.”

“Huh. Well, nothing was stolen.” Lyam transferred the spell to Nyara and asked her the same question.

“No, I did commit any of those crimes,” Nyara said promptly.

“And what don’t you want me to know?”

“Skif didn’t throw out his back riding _Cymry_!” Nyara blurted out, losing her struggle with the truth spell.

“Ah, that’s enough,” Lyam said hastily and transferred the spell to Blue.

“I didn’t commit any of the crimes in question,” Blue answered before he could even ask the question.

“And what don’t you want me to know?”

“When I look at you, I wonder how you would taste with the red sauce they serve at Ayshen’s,” Blue answered and then looked down at her feet. “I know! It’s a terrible, shameful thought for a Herald to have, but I can’t help it! These thoughts fill my mind! I think, maybe just the tail-”

“I think that’s enough,” Lyam said and ended the spell. He eyed Blue nervously.

“I would never!” she protested. “I just think it.”

“What about your innocence?” Skif asked.

“Why would I try to ruin my own play?”

“I don’t know; why would you?”

“Why don’t you cast the truth spell on me and ask, huh?”

“Good point,” Skif said, and did just that. While Skif could only cast the weak version of the spell, it was enough to confirm Lyam’s innocence. Then they had Firesong come over and asked him if he had any enemies. He, in turn, provided them with an extensive list of malevolent mages and/or ex-lovers, but the only one on the list present at the Vale was Clydesdale. Then Lyam dragged Nyara and Blue off to try on their altered costumes. The next day was to be the first performance, so after everyone was dressed, they ran through a full-dress rehearsal and then broke for the night.

After they were done, Firesong and Silverfox went home and turned in for the night, but they had not been asleep for long when music stirred Firesong from his rest. Groggily, he pushed his sleep mask up on his forehead and went to the window to see what the blazes was going on. The moon was full, and in the light, he saw that Clydesdale was standing below the window. He was holding his hurdy-gurdy over his head as he played it, and he was singing. It took Firesong’s sleep-fogged brain a moment to place the song, but eventually he recognized it. In Valdemar there was a popular Bard named Petros Godstrength, and the song Clydesdale was singing was his well-known hit In Your Eyes.

“Firesong, my love!” Clydesdale called up. “Do you remember this song?”

Firesong ground his teeth. It was the song Clydesdale had played for him the first night they had gone to bed together. He squinted his eyes. Although it was hard to tell with only the moonlight to see by, it looked as though Clydesdale had dyed his hair to be the same rustic blond color he’d had it when he’d first met Firesong. There was movement to Firesong’s left and he saw that a tree hare had joined him on the windowsill. The tree hare was wearing miniature Bardic robes.

“Goddess damn it, Dale, it’s got to be past midnight,” Firesong called down. “Go away.” With a quick grab, Firesong snatched up the tree hare and chucked it down at the Bard. “And take your blasted tree hare with you.” Then he slammed the window shut and turned around to return to bed.

And found Silverfox awake and watching him.

“What’s going on?” Silverfox asked.

And it was past midnight and Firesong was tired and they had opening night the next day, so he opened his mouth and let the words pour out.

“It’s my damned Bardic ex-lover who thinks that just because you’re going to ditch me for Nightshower, I’m just going to fall right into his arms and have him kiss away my broken heart! As if he could ever compare to you!”

“You’re crying,” Silverfox said. Stepping forward, he used a finger to brush away a tear. Then he pulled Firesong into an embrace. “Now what’s this nonsense about me leaving you for Nightshower.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Firesong insisted.

“Ah,” Silverfox said. “Because he’s younger and magic’s all messed up now and he doesn’t have scars on his face, you think that I’ll just drop you for him?” Firesong tried to answer but choked on a fresh wave of sobs. He just nodded instead. “Firesong, I love you.”

Firesong swallowed and forced the words out. “An’desha told me that. I fucked things up there, didn’t I?”

“I am not An’desha,” Silverfox said. “And you are not Nightshower, and for that I am grateful. Nightshower is a git. I don’t know what he said to you, but I can assure you that it’s untrue. And I think you know that because you know what kind of man I am.”

Firesong nodded slowly as it seeped in how hurtful his accusations must be to his lover. A wave of guilt washed over him. “I’ve been a git, haven’t I?”

Silverfox squeezed Firesong tightly. “Nobody achieves perfection overnight. Not even you. And I promise you that I will talk to Nightshower. In the morning.”

“Thanks. I love you, too.”

“You know, I spoke with your Forefather when we were at Urtho’s Tower.”

“Oh?”

“Uh huh. I wanted you as much then as I do now, so I asked him about what I should do, and do you know what he said?”

“What?”

“He said that if I loved you, I should love you with all my heart until death did we part.” Silverfox paused and drew a breath. “Which in his experience, he said, had always occurred in less than a year.”

Firesong made a face. “Perhaps Forefather was not the best person to ask romance advice from.”

Silverfox gave a weak chuckle. “Yes, it took him a couple of tries to be with his love, didn’t it? Goddess permitting, we’ll have more time than that. But whatever time we do have, I intend to make the most of.”

Firesong sniffed and wiped away the last of his tears. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’m ready for sleep again quite yet.”

“Mmm, same. I’m rather wired.”

“Want to play Emperor and Lover?”

“Very much so,” Silverfox said and led Firesong back to the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Opening Night!


	12. For the Love of Musical Theatre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took my best stab at guessing the character's ages. I think what I have should be about right?

Silverfox was true to his word. The next day, as everyone was getting their costumes and make up on for opening night, Silverfox pulled Nightshower into one of the wings of the stage.

“Well, hello,” Nightshower said, and then the smile faded from his face when he saw the look on Silverfox’s.

“You’re banned from my services,” Silverfox said bluntly.

“What?”

“Firesong told me what you told Clydesdale. I don’t tolerate my clients hurting my partner.”

Fury pushed aside shock in Nightshower’s countenance. “You deserve better than him!”

“Excuse me?”

“I would be a better partner for you than him. We should be together, not you and him.”

Silverfox’s expression softened, but not in a way that gave Nightshower false hope. “Nightshower, I love Firesong and have no intention of ending my relationship with him. But even if Firesong wasn’t in the picture, I still would not pursue a relationship with you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re twenty years old. I’m thirty-five. I offered to give you lessons so that you could be a better partner for someone your own age, but I have no interested in being that partner. We’re at completely different places in our lives.”

“And how old is Firesong, huh?”

“Firesong is twenty-eight. While there is a gap between him and I, it is much smaller than the gap between you and me.” Silverfox sighed. “You think you’re in love with me because I have the experience that you crave; what you really want is to have everything figured out in life. Every young person wants that. And it _will_ come with time.” With that, Silverfox turned away, leaving Nightshower alone in the wings.

Nightshower was not alone for long. Lyam soon darted over to him. “You need to get into costume. What’s wrong?”

“Silverfox…he…”

“What about him?”

“Never mind.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened, but here’s what you need to do. You’re going to put on your costume and you’re going to go out there and be the best Third Tree from Stage Left you can be.”

“Oh, and they’ll just throw roses at my feet then, will they?”

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Lyam said. But he made a mental note to engage in some classic _hertasi_ meddling. He’d heard – as all the _hertasi_ had heard – about Clydesdale’s failed attempt to woo Firesong with his hurdy-gurdy, and now here was Nightshower having apparently broken his heart over Silverfox. The solution seemed obvious.

Then Lyam tucked that thought away as he darted off to his spot in the wings. The play was about to begin, and Blue and Lores were to be on stage first. They had found a solution to Lores’ refusal to deliver his lines. Lyam had thought that perhaps Cymry could just Mindspeak Lores’ lines, but she had informed him (via Skif) that, unlike the kyree and so forth, she could only Mindspeak those who shared that Gift. That plan dashed, he had decided that sandwich boards would be draped over Cymry with Lores’ lines written on them. While Lores acted on stage, Cymry could trot and off at the appropriate moments, so that the audience could read what Lores was supposed to be saying. (Well, Mindspeaking.) As if on cue, Cymry trotted up beside him, her first sandwich board in place.

Stagehands placed caps with slits in them over the torch lights that lit the full theatre, causing the lights to dim. Nyara, clad in the clothes of a Haighlei Bard, stood center stage as the curtains parted. There were multiple levels of curtains that spanned the stage. After she had finished the introduction, the curtains behind her parted, showing Blue and Lores in the bedchamber set. Blue was wearing a flowy gown and a wimple. A pillow – a large pillow – had been tied around her stomach under the dress to make it appear that she was pregnant. Lores wore a royal robe and had a crown tied to his head. As he moved, it slid slightly to one side.

“I would really like _some_ cassava,” Blue said in her role of Queen Mother. Lyam winced. He had worked with her during rehearsal about the idea of putting emphasis on key words when delivering her lines, but the word she was supposed to emphasize was “really”, not “some”.

Lores neighed in response, which was Cymry’s cue to trot on stage, her sandwich board bearing Lores’ line.

Blue gryphon grinned at Cymry, and there was an uncomfortable pause.

: _Your line,_ : Lyam hissed at her in private Mindspeech.

“Oh, right,” Blue said out loud. Lyam slapped his face with the palm of his hand. “Go to the witch’s house on the other side of the wall,” Blue continued.

Cymry reared up on her hind legs and turned around, so that the writing on the other side of the sandwich board was visible.

Then Cymry quickly darted off stage so that she could get her next sandwich board. Lores followed after her, leaving Blue alone on the stage.

“Do not fear the witch,” Blue proclaimed. Lyam wanted to sob. It was probably her best line delivery so far. Too bad “King Father” had already left.

The stagehands – at least _they_ knew how to do their job – dimmed the lights further as other stagehands changed the sets. Blue was ushered off stage, and the bedchambers set was switched out for the wall and garden set. To Lyam’s relief, Lores scaled the wall with no issue. To his horror, he saw that the straw rope on the second sandwich board that Cymry wore was frayed. It was too late to fix it. Awotwi, as Mage Brassica, was already delivering her lines.

“Foul man! How dare you steal from me?”

Lores neighed. Cymry, who’d been examining the frayed rope with concern, nearly missed her cue. Lyam hissed at her, and she hurriedly cantered on stage.

“More than her newborn child?” Awotwi asked. “I will give you the cassava if you give me the child when it comes.”

Cymry spun around to deliver Lores’ next line, and the frayed rope snapped, leaving the board swinging.

Awotwi handed the prop cassava to Lores, who took it in his teeth, and Lyam signaled the stagehands to dim the lights early so that Cymry could drag the broken sign away in darkness. When the lights returned, the bedchamber set was now on stage, as well.

“No, you must not take our child,” Blue said, in the same tone of voice one might use to ask for a sandwich. Lores neighed, and Lyam looked at Cymry in horror. The stagehands were still struggling to get the next sandwich board on her. She looked at him helplessly. Lores glanced to the wings and saw, as well. Coming to a decision, he decided to forgo his line in favor of just reaching down and grabbing the foot of the doll that stood in for Baby Cassava. He started to pull the doll away when Blue grabbed the arm instinctively. There was a brief, confused struggle, and then Blue let go over the doll. Lores wrenched his head back…and then lost his grip on the pretend child. Baby Cassava flew out of the window of the bedchamber set, flew over the wall of the garden set, and landed right in Awotwi’s arms. She held Baby Cassava up triumphantly.

“The child is mine!” she declared, not missing a beat. “I will name him Cassava, after the vegetable that I traded away for him.”

The lights dimmed once more, and Lyam was grateful to see Blue and Lores exit the stage. They were supposed to have a small scene at the end where they were reunited with their son, but at this point, Lyam was considering just cutting it. The play continued, and everything went smoothly until the scene where Mage Brassica enchanted a thorn bush (played by Clydesdale) to blind Prince Amiedi (played by Firesong).

It was not supposed to be a long scene. The Thorn Bush wasn’t even supposed to have any lines. There was only supposed to be a couple of lines from Prince Amiedi, plus his screaming. 

Lyam could tell right away that something was wrong.

Firesong seemed fine, costume and hair just right, his mask in place. But Clydesdale – well, he was in costume all right, with his face and body painted green. But he was breathing heavily, and there was a wild look in his eyes. Then he opened his mouth, and words poured out.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Why what?” Firesong responded.

“Why wasn’t I good enough for you??”

: _What’s going on?_ : Lyam demanded privately to the two of them. Firesong caught his eye and nodded.

“My verdant flora,” Firesong said, “the fault lies not in the flowers that you bloom or the music made when the wind whistles through your thorns. When I met you, I was not looking for love. Then I met Prince Cassava, and I do love him. Please understand.”

“Then…then you just liked my prick?” Clydesdale asked, the words sounding as if they were wrenching his heart out of his chest. It might not have been scripted, but it wasn’t a bad performance, at least. Of course, Lyam reflected, Clydesdale might not have been acting.

“Did I ever tell you otherwise?” Firesong asked. Clydesdale opened his mouth to retort, and then shut it.

“No,” he admitted. “No, you never did.”

“Then go in peace.”

“I can’t do that. The Mage Brassica has commanded me to blind you. I will show you the power of my prick.” Finally back on script, Clydesdale stepped closer to Firesong and pretended to gouge his eyes out. Firesong gave a credible cry of pain and brought his arm up to cover his face. As he moved his arm away, he dragged the dollop of red paint he had palmed across his face. Firesong was wearing a mask that had been made specifically for the play, which looked identical to how his face had looked before he had been burned. In person, the mask was utterly disconcerting, but on the stage, with everyone made up as they were, it didn’t look out of place.

Firesong turned to face the crowd so that they could see the “blood” that now spilled from his eyes. “Woe! Tragedy! The thorn bush has stuck out my eyes!” he declared. “How now will I ever find my love?” Then he exited Stage Right, while Clydesdale stepped backwards and then disappeared behind the curtains, which parted briefly to allow him through. As he left the stage, Awotwi entered it from Stage Left, followed by her _dyheli_ backup dancers. Lyam gave them a thumbs up as they went past.

“I have spirited Prince Cassava and the tower away to the ends of the earth. His twue wuv Prince Amiedi will never find him. This makes me want to siiiiing!” Awotwi cast off the blue mage robes she was wearing. They landed behind her, where a waiting stagehand grabbed them and pulled them back behind the curtains. Underneath, Awotwi was wearing her red and gold ensemble. A matching top hat was dropped from the catwalk above. Awotwi deftly caught it and slipped it on. Small hatches in the floor were opened and cylinders about a foot in diameter were thrust upward. The dyheli began to beat their hooves against the stage floor in a steady beat as Awotwi launched into her song.

_One prince wanders blinded_

_My thorn pricked him good_

_One prince is in my hand_

_A captive in the far wood_

_All who stand against me_

_Fall before my power_

_All who stand against me_

_Will learn how to cower_

Lyam tapped his foot along with the beat as the dyheli leaped in time while Awotwi belted out the lyrics. He felt a momentary bit of annoyance when he looked down and saw a tree hare (wearing, for some reason, a ballet dress) on the edge of the stage, but he quickly realized that no one was looking at the errant tree hare. Every eye in the theatre was on Awotwi. Something – not magical, but theatrical – was happening. Awotwi had that glow about her that came when an actor found themselves in the moment - when everything came together, and the performance was just perfect. If someone was asked to define art, they need only point to moments like this. In words, it was when nothing else mattered but the caught breath of the audience, the utter silence anywhere except the stage.

The song ended with a flurry of red and yellow and orange sparks that shot upward out of the cylinders, and Awotwi struck her final pose. The theatre burst into applause, and Lyam, from his position in the wings, caught the look of pure rapture on Awotwi’s face. She felt the way Lyam had when he’d awoken with the play demanding to be written. She had the theatre bug. She’d audition again and again in future plays, for the sheer love of it.

The curtains dropped for intermission, the sparks ended, and then the lights went out. Not just dimmed – completely out. Some of the stagehands – who Lyam would have offered a raise if anyone were getting paid (which wasn’t the case, so he wouldn’t) – stepped forward and used their Mage Gift to summon mage lights to direct the audience. Backstage, Awotwi, Firesong, and Blue did the same. Everyone gathered together and looked at each other in confusion. It was Blue who finally spoke.

“I believe it is finally time for me to reveal who has been causing disruptions to Lyam’s play.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: J'accuse!


	13. Whodunit?

All eyes were on Blue. She, in turn, turned to Lyam. “How long is intermission?”

“Half a candlemark.”

“This shouldn’t take that long.” Blue began to pace back and forth across the stage. The eyes of the cast and crew present followed her as she walked, turned, swished her tail. “As you are all aware, mishaps have been befalling this production. Yesterday, Nyara, Herald Skif, Lyam, and I all ruled each other out as suspects.

“Can confirm,” Lyam said. Nyara nodded, as well.

“You going to truth spell everyone?” Firesong asked.

“We don’t have time for that,” Blue said, “and in any sense, it won’t be necessary. The facts are these. Person or persons unknown – unknown to all but myself and the culprit that is – committed a series of acts with the intent of sabotaging Lyam’s production. There were the scripts that were changed, the pole that would have killed Awotwi were she not a Change-child, and the tampering of the laundry to turn all of the white costumes pink.”

“So who was it?” Lyam asked eagerly.

“It pains me to say this,” Blue said, “but the culprit is…”

“Yes?” several of the cast and crew members asked.

“The culprit is…Companion Lores!”

All eyes swiveled around the Lores, whose eyes were wide with shock.

“Lores…is a Companion,” Nyara said dubiously.

“My Companion,” Blue agreed, “but he is a being with free will and thus capable of evil as much as anyone.”

“But why would Lores…oh.” That was Lyam. “It’s because I didn’t want him in the play, isn’t it?”

Blue nodded gravely. “In retaliation, he changed the scripts.”

“Without hands?” Silverfox asked doubtfully.

“Lores possesses the Fetching Gift,” Blue revealed. “It was in that manner that he was able to operate the printing press. It was also with his Fetching Gift that he was able to break the pole and switch the laundry. He let his desire to get back at Lyam lead him down a vile path. Oh, Lores, how could you?”

Lores neighed shamefully in response and then let his head sink down to be practically at his feet.

“What happens now?” Lyam asked.

“I’m afraid there’s no choice. A Companion who errs so greatly that he’d attempt murder must be put to death. It’s Valdemaran law. It means that I will die as well, but I’m afraid there’s no alternative.”

Shocked silence.

Then a cough.

Every eye in the room swiveled around and so everyone was thus looking at Nightshower. He, in turn, was looking very intently at his feet.

“Ichangedthescripts,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Blue asked.

Nightshower reluctantly looked up. “I changed the scripts. I was trying to humiliate Firesong. It was immature and wrong, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t Lores.”

Clydesdale looked at Nightshower and then around the room until his eyes landed on Awotwi. Then he spoke, as well. “I broke the pole that nearly killed you, Awotwi. I was showing off my hammer-work to Nightshower and hit the pole by accident. I am so, so sorry.”

Awotwi cocked her head to one side. “You were showing off your hammer-work _while on the catwalk_?”

“Yes,” Clydesdale said in a small voice.

Awotwi glared at him. “You are lucky that the pole hit me and not Brightwings. At least I can regrow my internal organs. But, gods, try to think more in the future!”

“I will. I promise.”

“I thought _I_ didn’t think things through,” Awotwi muttered under her breath.

Firesong raised a hand. “The clothes mix-up is on me. I think. I wasn’t really paying attention when I was changing back after we first tried on our costumes, but I think maybe I might have put my red belt in with my white robes.”

Alona chimed in. “And I was so interested in humiliating Clydesdale that I wasn’t paying attention when I was washing them. I really should have caught that.”

“So who broke the rope for Cymry’s sandwich board? And what happened to the lights?”

Cymry looked at Lores, who looked at Blue, who spoke. “Lores said that Cymry said that she’d been nervous about doing a good job and had been chewing on one of the ropes for the sandwich boards before the show. She says she didn’t mean to fray it.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have used straw ropes,” Lyam conceded. “And the lights?”

“That was me,” Awotwi confessed. “That last performance – with everyone looking at me and cheering – it was just, just everything! I love musical theatre. Sorry that I lost control of my magic there for a moment.”

“I can fix the lights,” Blue said, “since I’m a firestarter.”

Lyam looked from Blue to Lores and back again. “So Lores is innocent.”

Blue gryphon grinned at him. “Yes.” She glanced around the room. “I apologize for my deceit, but I thought if everyone thought the consequences of their own dishonesty were so high, the truth would come out.”

Now Lyam was staring at her in four feet of fury. “You were acting??”

Blue nodded her head enthusiastically. “Yes, I think I’m finally getting the hang of it.”

“You- you-” Lyam sputtered incoherently. Eventually, Silverfox put a hand on his shoulder.

“Focus on tomorrow night’s performance,” Silverfox suggested.

Lyam pointed a shaking, clawed finger at Blue. “I expect perfection tomorrow. I want the audience in tears at your performance! Do you hear me?”

“I will do my best,” Blue promised him.

Blue relit the candles, intermission ended, and the play continued. The rest of the night went off with barely a hitch. There was a tree hare clad as a Herald that wandered on stage during the climax, as Firesong climbed Silverfox’s hair and passionately kissed him, but everyone in the audience was too busy cheering for the triumphant couple to notice.

Lyam mingled with the crowd as they left, listening to the comments the audience made among themselves.

“That was, um, a bold choice, having Prince Amiedi and the Thorn Bush be ex-lovers,” Skif remarked.

“I don’t know,” Silverrain replied. “I thought that part wasn’t properly foreshadowed.”

“It’s a shame that Prince Cassava never got to reunite with his parents,” Skif said.

“Ha! They sold him for a piece of vegetation! And besides, that is _not_ how you handle a baby.”

\---

Clydesdale and Nightshower left the same way after the show. Clydesdale would have left by a different exit that was closer, but he found Lyam blocking the way with a cart full of costumes. Nightshower cast a guilty look at the Bard after they exited the theatre together. “Sorry I lied to you,” he said.

“I’m not mad,” Clydesdale said. “You were only dishonest. I could have gotten someone killed.”

“Yeah, I was pretty freaked out when that happened. At least until we saw that Awotwi was okay.”

“I should have confessed then,” Clydesdale said, “but, um, thanks for not ratting me out.”

“You going back to Haven after this run’s over?”

“Not right away. I’ve still got to write a ballad about Firesong’s heroic deeds.”

“But after that?”

“Yeah. But not permanently. I’ll be off again before long, recording more tales.”

“Travelling about sounds like the life,” Nightshower said.

Clydesdale caught Nightshower’s eye and smiled. “It’s best when you’ve got good company.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. Of course, before anyone came with me, they’d want to make sure they liked my company. Want to grab dinner tomorrow night at Ayshen’s?”

“I’d love to.”

“Then maybe afterward, I’ll show you my skills at playing the flageolet.”

Nightshower caught Clydesdale’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it. “Until tomorrow.”

\---

Awotwi invited Brightwings back to her _ekele_ after the show.

“Some celebrations in order?” Brightwings suggested suggestively.

“I-” Awotwi started and then swallowed hard. “I’d like that. A lot, actually. But there are still some confessions that need to be made. Brightwings, I’m-”

“-a disgraced priestess because I stole my rival’s fish?” Brightwings finished, raising a feathery eyebrow.

“You knew?” Awotwi squeaked.

“I’m a Farspeaker,” Brightwings revealed. “It’s part of the reason I left White Gryphon. I was making some of the high and mighty a bit nervous. But even all the way out here, I can still just barely reach White Gryphon. You caused quite a stir.”

“There’s more,” Awotwi admitted wretchedly. “I don’t really have a doctorate.”

“Yeah, I guessed that. Why’d you lie about that?”

“It made me sound impressive.”

“You don’t need a made-up title to be impressive. Anything else?”

“I came here to destroy k’Leshya Vale and make everyone go back to White Gryphon.”

Now it was Brightwings turn to be surprised. “Really? What’d you do?”

“Well, nothing,” Awotwi admitted. “But I tried to insult some of the other members of the cast. And I was going to paint the gryphon landing areas and not put up a Wet Paint sign. And I attempted to recruit some of the tree hares to be my minions.”

“You’re an Animal Mindspeaker?”

“No, that was the problem.”

“Wait, are you the reason some of them are dressed in adorable outfits?”

“Uh huh. Minions should be properly dressed.”

“Nice work. They all look super cute.”

“Thanks.”

“What were you going to do with them, anyway?”

“Steal Firesong’s socks. So that they would be mismatched.”

A wicked gleam came into Brightwings’ eyes. “We could still do that.”

“But not all of them,” Awotwi insisted. “Firesong doesn’t deserve that.”

Brightwings chucked. “Have you given up your designs for wickedness then?”

“I have,” Awotwi promised. “I, well, I like it here. I want to stay.”

“I want you to stay, too,” Brightwings said. She moved closer to Awotwi and nibbled gently on Awotwi’s ear. “There’s a lot of things I want.” A delightful shiver ran through Awotwi. Then she took Brightwings hand and led her to her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this!


End file.
